Terudom
by Absolute Elsewhere
Summary: Mike Weston and Max Hardy are assigned to a top secret task force code named Terudom, for Terrorist Unknown Domestic. It's mission: track down a deadly assassin. But the killer they are hunting is none other than Ryan Hardy, who is waging a war in the shadows against Eliza and her serial killer organization. And now Eliza has set a deadly trap for Mike and Max
1. Chapter 1 - Just Like Old Times

TERUDOM

Disclaimer: It's fanfic, meaning I don't own anything, or make any money off of it. It's a labor of love. Please don't sue me.

This story is rated T. I don't think there's much of anything in here, apart from some language, that couldn't be shown on an episode of The Following. If you're old enough to watch The Following, you're old enough to read this.

The story begins approximately ten months after the end of Season 3. The title may seem obscure, but the meaning will become clear if and when it gets continued. Reviews and how much time Real Life allows me to write will determine that.

There are some footnotes at the end of the story. I was hesitant to include them. They may or may not interest the reader, and are not really necessary to understand the story, which should speak for itself.

Chapter 1: Just Like Old Times

It was a wet, cold, miserable night, and God was punishing Mike Weston by answering his prayers. A light rain was falling, spotting the windshield. They couldn't start the engine to heat the car, since the exhaust might have tipped off their quarry.

"We're wasting our time", his partner said.

Mike looked over at Dennis Fuchida, sitting behind the wheel. "You don't think he'll show?", Mike asked.

"I don't know if he'll show or not. We're wasting our time either way".

The rain picked up, and made it harder to see the rent house they were staking out. Mike felt a cramp in his back. He'd been sitting too long in the cold. The doctors had cleared him for full duty, though Max had thought he was pushing it, and he had to admit that he wasn't a hundred percent. But he was anxious to get out from behind his desk where the scenery never changed. So he told Shelby that he was ready, and he wanted to get back out there. So now here he was, called in on short notice for an endless stakeout on a dirty night because Jermaine Waller was down with the flu. He listened to the cold rain beating on the roof of the car, thought of his nice warm girlfriend, and sighed.

"You know, Dennis, I wouldn't exactly call busting a terrorist a waste of time."

"Neither would I", said Dennis, "if he was planning to strike here. Look, the guy posts on his social media that he's going to go to Syria, hook up with Daish* , be a badass terrorist, kill people, and take him some female sex slaves. If he's retarded enough to post that in public, then he's not really smart enough to be much of a terrorist. So let him go. He goes over there, ends up under a JDAM, or gets himself killed in some other really messy, horrible way. Problem solved."

"And this recruiter?", Mike asked.

"If there is one", said Dennis, "and he has any sense, he's long gone. Once our guy posted that crap online, the smart thing to do was to get out of town. They have to know he's blown."

"Maybe he's been too busy killing people and taking female sex slaves to spend time on social media".

Dennis was silent for moment, seemingly lost in thought. "My sister died over there."

"I didn't know", Mike said. "I'm sorry."

"Yeah, me too. Roadside bomb, back in '09. Damn near killed Mom. She was 23. Honestly...I don't think there was ever anything over there that was worth losing Elizabeth. As far as I'm concerned, if this dude wants to go back there and do whatever, he can damn well go."

Mike looked over at Dennis. He was maybe twenty seven. So Elizabeth would have been a little older. This was his first time working with Dennis, though Max had worked with him a lot during his long recovery.

"So is Shelby going to put you and Max together?", Dennis asked.

" I don't know", Mike answered. "He might not. Personal feelings, and all that. Shelby's a serious hardass."

"Shelby's OK. He takes some getting used to. Didn't he know Ryan?"

"Yeah, he did", Mike said." I never heard Ryan talk about him, but Max got a condolence letter from him. He wasn't at the funeral, he couldn't come. But he sent a letter. Not a card. A handwritten letter. Apparently they were at Quantico together."

A car was approaching from opposite direction, and slowing down as it approached the rent house. The roads in this neighborhood were narrow, the houses small, with yards about the size of postage stamps separated by wooden privacy fences. Mike and Dennis were watching the street in front of the house. They were parked about forty yards down the street, on the same side as the house. Another unit was watching the next street over. If the recruiter appeared, the trucks with the SWAT teams would be called in.

"Is that him?", Dennis asked.

"No", Mike answered, as the car turned into the driveway next door.

They sat in silence for a few minutes. "By the way, man", Dennis said, "congratulations on making it all the way back".

"Thanks", Mike said. "It was a long hard road."

"I'm sure."

The door opened in front of the house where the car had stopped, and from down the street, Mike and Dennis could hear the sounds of an argument. They sat in silence, listening. Mike stifled a yawn. The rain had now slacked off to a drizzle. The argument escalated. His basic contention appeared to be that she was a bitch, hers that he was a bastard, and that he was drunk. That last seemed indisputably true, whatever the marital status of his parents. Also, she said he should fucking well get out, because she had fucking well had it.

"Heads up", Mike said. "You see that?. Car parked at the end of the street. The door opened, and the interior light didn't come on."

A bearded man in a heavy coat and a dark navy watch cap got out of the Subaru Mike was pointing at, and started walking toward the house. "I think that's him", Dennis said.

"Sinker two", Mike said into the radio, "we've got a male approaching the house. Looks like our guy."

"Copy". Mike recognized Shelby's voice. "Wait till he's inside." The man walked by the house where the couple was arguing. She was telling him loudly to get out.

The man walked up to the front door of the rent house. Mike unzipped his coat. One of the miseries of carrying a gun on a cold night is you have to leave your coat open so you can get to it.

"Sinker two", Mike said. "He's inside".

"Sinker Six", Shelby said. "Copy. All units move in". The plan was for two truckloads of agents in SWAT gear to take down the house. The first truck would pull up to the front of the house. The second would take position on the next street over, in case anyone tried to get out the back and over the fence.

They waited about ten minutes. The SWAT teams were stationed several blocks away, so as to avoid tipping off the terrorist they were stalking. The SWAT truck heaved into view at the end of the street, and began approaching the rent house. But at the last moment, the drunk next door, headed for wherever he planned to spend the night, came shooting out of his driveway, backing up fast. Right into the path of the approaching SWAT truck, which hit him broadside. The drunk expressed his outrage by honking the horn and shouting something. Mike caught the words "You owe me".

The SWAT truck began disgorging FBI agents, who were much further from the house than planned. Mike opened the car door and lunged out. "Come on!" he shouted at Dennis. He could hear Shelby violating Bureau policy about profanity on the radio. Mike drew his Glock, and began running toward the house. He could hear Dennis behind him. He saw the bearded man emerge from behind the house. The guy had gone out the back door, but he knew better than to try for the back fence. He turned and started running down the street toward Mike and Dennis, but when he saw them coming, he turned again and headed across the street. Mike turned to pursue. The man dashed into the yard of one of the houses across the street, intent on getting over the high privacy fence behind it. Mike suddenly heard Dennis cry out in pain, and when he glanced back, he saw Dennis crumple and go down behind a Ford pickup truck parked on the street. Had he been shot? Mike hadn't heard a gun.

He turned his attention to his quarry. "FBI!" he shouted. Because he'd been on stakeout, he wasn't wearing a raid jacket, and if the SWAT guys mistook him for a suspect...He saw the bearded man just ahead, trying to climb the fence. He had gotten a running jump, but it wasn't high enough, and he was trying to heave his bulk over the fence, his feet scrabbling for purchase on the wet wood.

Mike reached up with his left hand, grabbed the man's belt, and pulled. The man came down hard in the wet grass. Mike shoved his pistol in the man's face, and shouted "Freeze! FBI!"

He heard someone coming up behind him. He glanced over his shoulder. It was Dennis, who was moving fast, but with a limp. "Mike, look out!", Dennis yelled.

The distraction had allowed the man to reach for his coat pocket. Mike saw what was happening, and shouted "Move and you fucking die!" The man decided, wisely, that Mike was serious. The hand stopped moving. Dennis came up beside him, limping, grabbed the man's arm, and started helping Mike cuff him. In a few seconds, they had him face down on the cold wet grass, his hands cuffed behind his back, and began frisking him. He had a folding knife in his pocket, a nasty looking tanto with a three and a half inch blade. "What happened?", Mike asked.

"There was a trailer hitch behind that pickup. I didn't see it. That hurt like a bastard."

"Thanks for the assist."

Dennis grinned. "Bro, if you get carved up a second time, Max might just gut me like a trout"

Their prisoner was the uncooperative sort, and refused to walk under his own power. Dennis went and got a couple of SWAT men to help carry him, then went in search of the paramedic to get his leg looked at. As they loaded the prisoner into the transport van, Mike could hear the drunk explaining to a pair of unsympathetic FBI agents that it was all that bitch's fault, for getting him so mad that he had to leave in such a hurry.

"Weston". The voice came from behind him. He turned to find Dan Shelby, his boss. "Good save", Shelby said.

"Thanks. Where's Dennis?"

"Over there", Shelby said, pointing. An ambulance had pulled in behind the SWAT truck, and the paramedic was looking at Dennis's leg. ."I think he's Ok, but that's gonna hurt like hell. Let's have a look inside."

Mike followed Shelby into the rent house. The front door was badly damaged, hanging by one hinge from the impact of the battering ram the SWAT team had used on it. The house was small, one story, with a living room, two bedrooms, a bath, a tiny kitchen, and a laundry room. There were three men face down and cuffed in the living room. A search of the house yielded two laptops, a half a dozen phones, most of them probably burners, and, in the laundry room, twenty-four cartons of cigarettes with North Carolina tax stamps.** Shelby turned to Mike. "He have a phone on him?", he asked.

"Yeah".

"Good. He won't talk, they never do. But we'll get something useful out of that phone.". Shelby was a tall, wiry man with short brown hair going slightly gray at the temples, Clark Kent style glasses, and a crooked nose, broken, it was said, in a savage beating administered by a biker gang when he was working undercover. "Well done", he said. "Nice to have you back".

"Thank you sir. It's nice to be back". Shelby was a little more formal than Gina Mendez had been. He'd been in the Navy, and to people who worked for him, his name was Sir.

The search of the house concluded, Mike walked outside to check on Dennis. The paramedics had dressed his wound.. "You OK?" he asked Dennis.

"I don't think they're gonna amputate", Dennis replied. "It took a bunch of skin off, and it's gonna turn colors. Black, blue...that sort of thing."

"Well, let's just hope it wasn't a complete waste of time."

Mike felt the cold drizzle on his face. He was wet, cold, and tired, but he was, at long last, all the way back. And it felt damn good.

They say the job isn't finished until the paperwork is done. Sorting everything out from the raid took the rest of the night, and Mike didn't get home until nearly eight in the morning. When he opened the door, the first thing he smelled was coffee, and it reminded him of just how long it had been since he had last eaten.

He found Max in the kitchen, in a bathrobe, addressing a plate of French toast, which she put aside in favor a hug and a kiss. Mike pulled her in close, enjoying the small of her hair. She had just come from the shower.

"You should have called", she said. "I was up early. If I'd known when you were coming, I could have made us a Dutch baby."

"I would have called, but I wasn't sure when I'd be in, and I didn't want to wake you. Besides, what I really want is to stand under a hot shower."

"I'd stand under it with you", she grinned, "but I have to be at Gwen's. I'm keeping Ryan Jr this morning. So how did it go?"

"We got him. No serious problems. Dennis managed to have a close encounter with a trailer hitch chasing after the guy. He'll be sore for a while". He decided that this might not be the best time to mention the knife. In fact, never might be the best time to mention that.

"Trailer hitch?"

"Yeah, we had to chase the guy, and he cut a little too close behind a pickup truck. Your breakfast is getting cold."

"You be careful"

"Don't worry. I'm fine and nothing is going to...

"No", Max interrupted. "You be careful. And don't tell me not to worry, because I will anyway. And don't try to act like you're eight feet tall and bulletproof, because I know better. Of all people, I know better." She put her arms around his waist, and laid her head against his shoulder.

Mike hugged her close, and kissed her softly. He could see, in her eyes, something of what she had been through, what the days and weeks after the attack in the parking garage had cost her emotionally. "Max", he said, "I love you. And I would never have made it without you. I would never have survived, and I would never have made it back. Not without you there. I know you'll worry. But I swear...I will be careful. I will have eyes in the back of my head. And I will come home safe. Because I know what I've got to come home to. Now, your breakfast is getting cold. " He decided that his shower could wait. Better to spend some time with her, before she had to leave. "Actually", he said, "I might have a little something before I turn in"

He rummaged around in the cabinet, and found a bag of instant cocoa and a mug. He went to the refrigerator, and poured some milk. As it heated in the microwave, he considered adding a shot of rum but decided against it. The alcohol might keep him awake.

"What's Gwen doing today?", he asked.

"She has a checkup with the doctor this morning", Max replied, "and she's getting her hair done. So I get to spend a little quality time with Ryan Jr. And remember, we're having dinner over there tonight."

"I've got the rest of the day off", Mike said. "I'm not sure how long Jermaine will be out, and Shelby may leave me on this Daish business even after he comes back. We think there's more of them out there. So there may be more stakeouts in my future." The microwave beeped, announcing that the milk was hot. "Worst case scenario, we can always leave notes for each other on the refrigerator door."

Shortly after, Max was throwing on her coat, preparing to leave. Mike had gone to bed. Before leaving, she sent a text to Gwen asking if there was anything she could pick up on the way over. She was about to open the door to leave, when suddenly a thought came to her. Notes on the refrigerator door, Mike had said. Well maybe she could do a little better than that.

She slipped her shoes off, and walked quietly across the carpet to the bedroom. Mike was asleep already. She stole in, and took a bottle of perfume - Midnight Fleur. She walked slowly and carefully over to the bed, sprayed some on her pillow, and then slipped out.

When Mike awakened, the first thing he smelled would be her.

Long experience had made Max alert and careful. She walked wide around corners, and used store windows for rear visibility. When out and about, she opened doors fast and all the way. In a restaurant or a bar, she avoided sitting with her back to an open door. It wasn't that she lived in fear. She was relaxed, but watchful. Not long after Ryan's disappearance, she had a dream in which Ryan had told her to always keep her eyes open. While she had always been careful, always believed strongly that the first law of life was Be Here Now, that dream had stayed with her. It hadn't recurred, but it haunted her. She had many times replayed it in her mind. Sometimes she wanted to tell Mike about it, but something held her back.

So Max, as always, was watchful, but this morning she didn't notice the dark haired man with a moustache and sunglasses parked down the street watching the door to Mike's apartment, nor did she notice that he suddenly straightened up and became alert when she appeared, and that he watched her intently as she got in her car and started the engine.

Ryan Hardy gazed longingly at his niece as she headed out into the cold, gray morning.

Gwen returned from her hair appointment to find Max curled up on the living room couch with her Kindle. Max held a finger to her lips, pointed toward Gwen's bedroom, and mouthed the words 'He's asleep".

"How was he?", Gwen asked.

"He was a little angel."

"I really appreciate this, Gwen said. "You've helped so much."

"I'll have one of my own, someday", Max said, smiling. "Until then, I get to play with yours. Oh and by the way, you look great."

"Thank you. Is Mike working today?", Gwen asked.

"No", Max replied, "he actually worked last night.". Her face darkened. "Stakeout. He's back on full duty. They say he's ready. " She paused. "I guess he is. I'm not sure I am." She paused again, seemingly lost in thought. "We're working different schedules right now. I'm not sure how much we'll see of each other for a while."

"But that's not what's really bothering you", Gwen said. "You're worried about him.'

"Well...yes."

Gwen sat down on the couch, next to Max. "You worry about Mike. You worry about Ryan Jr. You worry about me. You worry about everyone, and you think no one ever needs to worry about you."

Max opened her mouth as if she were about to say something, but remained silent.

"So how are you?", Gwen asked. "I mean, the two of you?"

Max sat in silence, thinking. At last, she said " It's good. No, it's better than good. It's wonderful. But..."

"But?"

"I love living with him. Being with him. It's just...I'm afraid."

"Of what?"

"Losing him. Being alone. Losing Ryan was hard, and... Ryan was gone, and Mike was lying there, and he didn't have enough breath in him to blow out a candle. And I thought...what if I lose them both? Sometimes I think...he left before. He loves me, I know that. But he left once before. And he can be so impulsive sometimes. OK,,I know it's irrational. . He left before, and he got hurt before. And both times it was like I was dying inside. Dad's gone, Ryan's gone. I can't lose anyone else. I just can't. I haven't got many people left to lose."

"Slow down", Gwen said. "First of all Mike is not going to leave you. He's not. He loves you. He would never do that."

"I know", Max said. She hung her head a bit, as if ashamed of the thought.

"I lost Ryan too, and I'm not over it either. Even now. I know it's been hard for you. Grieve for Ryan, but don't be afraid."

"That's easy to say", Max said, glumly. "He's going back out there and..." She let the thought trail off.

"And how do you think Mike and I feel when you go out there?", Gwen asked. "And you go anyway, don't you?"

Max sat silently, thinking.

"Be happy for Mike, for fighting his way back from something that would have killed most men. Be proud of yourself for holding it together, and being there for him, and helping him through it. Enjoy every single moment you have together, because you both deserve it. And always remember that we love you, and care about you, and couldn't bear the thought of anything happening to you. So take a little time out from worrying about us and take care of yourself."

"I will", Max said, nodding. "And thank you."

"I need to start dinner", Gwen said. "This casserole has to cook for a long time on low heat."

"Want some help?"

"Sure", Gwen said, and started for the kitchen.

She put Max to work opening a bottle of Pinot Noir and slicing an onion while she put stew beef and broth into a casserole dish. " Thin slices", she said. "But not too thin. Yes, about like that. And watch that knife. It will take fingers." Gwen added flour, garlic, salt, pepper, and a cup of wine to the casserole dish, finished by placing the onion slices on top, and covering the whole thing with foil. "This is dirt simple to make", she said. "The hard part will be smelling it for hours. You get hungry long before it's ready."

Max returned home to find Mike awake, sitting in front of his laptop, and drinking a cup of coffee. "You didn't sleep long", she said.

"I was a little keyed up, I guess. From last night. How's Gwen?"

"She's fine. And Ryan Jr is bigger every time I see him. I want to get there a little early tonight and help out with dinner."

As she hung up her coat, Max noticed Mike looking her way, and grinning.

"What?", she asked.

"Nothing.", Mikes said. "It's just that I've been thinking about you ever since I got up."

"Good thoughts, I hope."

"Mostly, Mike said, "I've been thinking about that perfume. And the first time you wore it."

"Oh? When was that?"

""Like you don't know.", he said. He rose, from his chair, and put his arms around her. "It was the first night that I was well enough, and strong enough, to really make love to you. And it seemed like forever. It was so good to finally be able to touch you that way , and take you, and it felt like...like I was really finally alive again. "

"You ever get that shower?"

"No". He shook his head, smiling.

"I could wash your back."

He leaned in and kissed her, and they made their way towards the shower, leaving a trail of clothes as they went.

Mike lay on his back, looking up at the ceiling. Max rested her head drowsily on his shoulder, her arm across his chest. The afternoon sun streamed through the window. Mike wondered idly what time it was, but made no move to check. Because, he decided, it didn't really matter. _Because when she's this close, and I can hear her breathing, and feel her heart beating, it's always now._

He thought back on the events of the past twenty-two months. It was, he decided, a bit like getting off at the wrong interchange. You have to find a ramp to get you off the road, make your way back to where you should have been, and then find the ramp that takes you to the road you wanted to be on. And all the while you're burning gas, wasting time, dodging traffic, and pissed at yourself for having taken a wrong turn in the first place.

It was, Mike thought, a good analogy for the last twenty-two months of his life. He took a way wrong turn, burned up a lot of gas, and spent a of time sitting in traffic and sucking up carbon monoxide. And now he was finally back where he should have been in the first place.

He looked at Max, admiring her back, smooth, perfect, skin over toned, defined muscle. She could have any man she wanted. And she had chosen him. And after he had done everything humanly possible to push her away. He vaguely remembered a line, he wasn't sure where it was from, about doing the right thing after exhausting every other possibility. That was him. He had spent a bunch of time going in circles, then had to spend even more time on a long hard, painful recovery. Well, he couldn't get back lost time. You can't change the past. Time to start carving something out of the future. A future with Max in it.

"I'm back", he said, softly.

"Hm?" Max looked up into his face.

He wasn't aware that he had spoken aloud. "I said I'm back.", he said.

"You've been someplace I don't know about?"

"I've been all kinds of places. I'm in a really good place right now."

She gave him a wicked smile, and slid up his body for a lingering kiss.

Mike was thinking that it might just be time for round two, but man plans and God laughs. Max's phone came to life, and began playing a tune with a prominent banjo line, harmonica, and a lot of what sounded like clapping and foot stomping. He recognized the tune as "Take 'Em down by Dropkick Murphys" Max used it for when her boss called. The lyrics were a bit... disrespectful. Max indulged a sense of humor, and had her own ways of bucking the system.

"Jesus", she said. "Shelby. This can't possibly be good."

She detached herself from Mike, sat on the edge of the bed, and picked up her phone.

"Max Hardy"

The conversation that followed was short. Mike got up, and found his boxers, while Max was asking questions of Shelby, with a sheet clutched around her. He caught the words "And it's the same?", and "Where?", followed by the absolute last words he wanted to hear. "I'll be there as soon as I can."

Max put the phone down, and started getting dressed. ""Sorry", she said. A perfect day off shot to hell."

"What is it?", Mike asked.

"There's this hacking case I'm working on, and the guy has hit again, and...I gotta go. Sorry."

"That makes two of us. Oh, I almost forgot. Your package came."

Max finished dressing, and hastily brushed her hair, then went to end table by the couch where she found her mail.. It consisted of two credit card offers, an offer to save her money on her car insurance , the latest issue of Vanity Fair, and a package from Galco Gunleather, containing her new shoulder holster. She cut the package open, took out the holster, tried it on, and began adjusting it.

Mike had thrown on a pair of jeans and a sweatshirt. He looked at the new holster she was wearing. "Nice", he said, in a tone that might have meant the holster or the woman wearing it. He examined the packing slip. "Miami Classic. Isn't that what Sonny Crockett had in Miami Vice? "

"I believe it was", Max replied.

Mike noticed the price tag. "Does your equipment allowance cover this?" ***

"Not completely. I spent some of my own money. I used a shoulder rig sometimes back when I was a detective. I was getting stakeout duty a lot in bad neighborhoods, where a girl can get attacked in a vehicle. I wanted to be sure I could get to my gun if I was attacked in a car. But they issued me with a cheap nylon job, and it was really uncomfortable. So I didn't keep it. Then last year I had a really bad experience in a parking garage. This knife wielding psycho whack job stabbed the man I loved, and dragged me out of a car. I couldn't get to my gun in time because I was sitting on it. So I decided to get another shoulder rig. But this time I wanted a really good one. Leather, for a change. It's kinda spendy, but I deserve the best, right?"

"Absolutely", Mike said.

Max went and got her Glock 19 ****, and checked to make sure it fit. Then she put two spare magazines into the magazine pouches under her right arm.

"You want some backup?", Mike asked.

"I'm meeting Dennis. Besides, you worked last night."

"So did Dennis. I was s hoping to spend my day off with you. But your day off is shot, which pretty much means mine is too. So maybe I could ride along. It beats notes on the refrigerator door. It'll be just like old times."

"Old times?", she said doubtfully. "You mean like, you, me, and a bunch of psychotic batshit crazy killers intent on snuffing the both of us? Yeah. The two of us had some good times." She realized that she had almost said "The three of us."

"Ok, well, it won't be exactly like old times."

"One condition", she said. "I don't how long this is going to take. If it runs late, you have to leave and be at Gwen's for dinner. She's cooking, and at least one of us has to be there, period, end of story."

"I promise I'll be there. Now tell me about this hacker."

"I'll fill you in on the way", Max said.

Max drove. As they pulled out of the parking lot, she asked "Do you want a little music on the way?"

"Sure", Mike said. "Now about this hacker..."

Musical Interlude: It's A Creepy World, by Deadbolt

* Politicians, pundits, and media types use the acronyms ISIS and ISIL, sometimes interchangeably, as names for a Mideast terrorist group that has taken control of large areas of Iraq and Syria, and is infamous for its atrocities. The proper acronym for its Arabic name is Daish., short for al-Dawla al-Islamiya fi al-Iraq wa al-Sham. Daish actively seeks recruits in America.

** New York has the highest cigarette taxes in the nation, over $5 a pack. This leads to a thriving trade in smuggled cigarettes. As of this writing, the FBI has broken up two cigarette smuggling rings that were being used to fund terrorism.

*** As far as I know, FBI agents are given an equipment allowance with which they buy, among other things, their own holsters from an approved list. I have no idea if the Galco Miami Classic, or any other shoulder holster, is on that list.

After the end of Season 2, Jessica Stroup gave an interview to Young Hollywood, which can be found on YouTube, describing her favorite Following moments. In it, she describes the problems they had with Max's wardrobe because she had to carry a gun. They had to sew belt loops on her pants so she could wear a belt, which she needed in order to wear a holster.

Early in Season 2, Max Hardy used a shoulder holster, but later stopped. This raises the question of why, rather than go to all the trouble of sewing belt loops on her pants, They didn't just let Max keep her shoulder holster. I have worn a cheap nylon shoulder holster like the one Max had, and I can testify that they are torture to wear, and mostly don't work. The worst models can actually press on the tendons under your arm. After a few minutes, you will want to Take. That. Thing. Off. I have taken the liberty of giving Max a good reason to use a shoulder holster at the start of Season 2, and a reason why she stopped. I suspect the real reason Max lost her shoulder rig is that Jessica Stroup found that piece of cheap nylon crap as miserably uncomfortable to wear as I did.

A cheap nylon holster like Max had will cost about $25-$30, which is why the prop department has them. A good quality shoulder rig will run you $200-$300, depending.

In any case, I have decided that Max Hardy, at long last, should have a shoulder holster that actually works. And the next whack job who attacks her in a vehicle or a parking garage is going to be dead right there.

**** Max carried a SIG P239 second season, when she was a detective, and a Glock 17 when she became an FBI agent in Season 3. Mike Weston used a Glock 17 in all three seasons. Both guns fire a 9mm cartridge. In real life, the FBI issues agents with a Glock 23, which takes the .40 S&W, a cartridge that was originally created specifically for the FBI. Agents may use their own funds to buy the smaller, more compact Glock 27, also in .40 caliber, as a backup if they so desire.

Since it is Following canon that the FBI uses 9mm pistols, the FBI uses 9mm pistols in this story. Mike still has his Glock 17, but Max now has the more compact Glock 19, which would work a little better with her shoulder holster. In real life, the 19, being smaller and easier to conceal, is far more likely to be used by plainclothes officers. The Glock 17 holds 17 round magazine, the magazine for 19, being smaller, holds only 15 rounds. . Ryan Hardy carried a Glock 19 in season 1.


	2. Chapter 2 - Little Pieces Of Normal

Chapter 2 - Little Pieces Of Normal

Disclaimer: It's fanfic, meaning I don't own anything or make any money off of it. It's a labor of love. Please don't sue me.

This chapter is rated T. Apart from some language, I don't think there's much in this chapter that wouldn't pass muster on an episode of The Following. If you're old enough to watch The Following, you're old enough to read this.

I

"It started a month ago", Max said. "The first company that got hit was an outfit called Global Sutler Services . They do defense contracting for us, and for other countries as well. Mostly logistics, supply chain management, things like that. They can rent you an air tanker to refuel your air force planes in flight, and they can deliver supplies - fuel, ammo, spares, to wherever it's needed. About a week after that, it was a company that does financial services. And there's been another defense contractor hit, this time an outfit that hires out bodyguards for VIPs - ambassadors and so forth, in conflict zones."

"Doesn't our government have its own people for that?", Mike asked.

"You'd think. But actually we subcontract a lot of that out. The Pentagon, the State Department, the CIA...they all use private contractors for one thing or another. Hired guns, basically. Anyway, they all got hit with the same malware, and it's a destructive little bitch. There's an executable called Mister Shiny, and if it gets in your system, you're basically hosed. It steals data, and uploads it to the hacker, but it also wipes a lot of data, and you end up doing a lot of reformatting and restoring."

"With forensic analysis, it's possible to look at computer code and get an idea of the language of the person who wrote it. The thinking is that Mister Shiny was written by a Russian speaker, and since two of the victim companies did defense contracting, Shelby thinks that Mister Shiny may be a Russian intelligence operation."

"But you said that one of the companies was financial services", Mike replied.

"Yeah, well, the Russians have been caught gathering information about the financial sector. In the event of war, they might try to conduct cyber attacks to disrupt the economy. Besides, this outfit did payroll services for other companies, including some defense contractors. But here's my problem. Spies try to remain undetected. Secrets are a lot more useful and valuable if no one knows they've been stolen. . Mister Shiny does massive damage. It doesn't just collect information and then quietly report back. You know it's there because the whole system goes down. Besides, Russian speaker doesn't automatically mean Russian spies. There are black market web sites in Russia that offer exploit kits and malware. You can now buy miltary grade cyber weapons online along with your internet porn. We live in a creepy world." *

"Anyway", she concluded, "I call this guy Mr Shiny. Of course, I don't know that it's just one guy. For that matter, I don't even know that it's a guy."

"So there's been another attack", Mike said.

"Right. That's what Shelby called about", Max said. "This time, it's a major software company. Rhyolite Cyber Systems. RCS also does work for the Pentagon, but I'm not sure exactly what. So we head over to the office, meet Dennis, and then go see what Mr Shiny has done this time."

II

RCS was the sole tenant of a five story building with lots of green tinted glass and several satellite dishes on the roof located in a small business park. Someone had tried to beautify the place by putting flower beds in raised vinyl garden boxes by the entrance. It hadn't helped much. Nothing was blooming.

They were met in the lobby by a thin, pale man with wire rimmed glasses, shoulder length black hair, and a beard. ""I'm Zack Coleman. I'm the one who called you. It started at 9:30 this morning. Everything crashed. We've obviously got some kind of worm in the system. We have no idea how it got in.. The system is locked up, and we're sure a lot of files have been corrupted or erased."

"9:30?", Max asked. "What time did you call us?".

"About 1:00"

"Why the delay?"

"We were attempting to contact Mr Rickard. He and Mr Marloth are co-owners of the company. Mr Marloth is in Europe right now on vacation, and he said to contact Mr Rickard immediately."

"And have you contacted Mr Rickard?", Mike asked.

"We still haven't reached him. He didn't come in to work this morning. We've been leaving messages, but hasn't called back."

"You do realize that it's possible to call us, and still keep trying to reach your boss", Mike said. "I mean, you do have more than one phone line, right?"

"We kept thinking he'd call back."

"I was told", Max said, "that you do classified work for the Defense Department."

"Yes"

"Then you should have called us immediately", she said. "And I want to see your system. Now."

Coleman started walking toward the elevator at the back of the lobby. Dennis looked over at Max and mouthed _What the fuck?_.

"What sort of work do you do for the Pentagon?", Mike asked.

"Lots of stuff.", Coleman answered. "We do software for semiautonomous UAVs,, military electronic warfare systems, and some black programs...I'm not sure what I can tell you about those. That's classified Top Secret or better. We do a lot things in the civilian sector as well. Software for human resources, and we actually provide a lot of personnel management software to the government. We're also getting into social media. We've got a new social networking service called Missive Link that's growing rapidly."

Coleman led them to a room on the third floor with a computer terminals, and racks of complicated equipment. Well, he might not be able to unravel a computer worm, but he could make himself useful in other ways. As Max and Dennis began unpacking their laptops and setting up to begin their work, Coleman turned to leave. Mike followed him out into the hall, and said "I'd like to ask a few questions. The owners, Rickard and Marloth, can I get their first names?"

"Of course", Coleman replied. Mr Adrian Marloth, is in Europe right now on vacation. Mr Jason Rickard is his partner."

"When was the last time anyone heard from Mr Rickard?", Mike asked.

"I spoke to him shortly before he left the office yesterday at 4:00.", Coleman said.

"And no one has heard from him since? He hasn't come in to work today or answered his phone? Does he have a family?"

"I believe he's divorced", Coleman said.

"Children?", Mike asked.

"I believe they have a son. Sixteen, and his mother has custody."

"Has it occurred to anyone", Mike said "to actually go out to his house and check and see if he's OK?"

"We were going to do that. We've been on the phone with Mr Marloth."

"All day? Maybe we should go check on him.", Mike said.

"We can have someone out there shortly", Coleman said.

"We'll save you the trouble", Mike said, irritably. "Give me his address."

Mike wrote down the address Coleman gave him, walked back into the data center, and shut the door behind him. "Coleman says no one has bothered to go check on Rickard all day long", he said. "I can go out to his house and see if he's there. Coleman gave me the address."

Max looked up from the monitor in front of her. "They don't check on him, and they take their sweet time calling us. Kind of makes you wonder."

"Whoa", Dennis said, sitting up suddenly. "Looks like Mr Shiny just activated an email program. And we've got mail. One message. No subject line. No attachments."

"Ok, let's have a look", Max said.

The message, when opened, consisted of a pair of numbers. 40.475181 -74.484131.

"Map coordinates", Max said, in a tone that might have been a question.

"Looks like", Dennis replied. "And it looks local"

Max took out her phone. "I'm calling Shelby", she said. Getting through to Shelby only took a few moments. 'Sir, Max Hardy. I'm at RCS with Mike Weston and Dennis Fuchida. It's definitely the Mr Shiny malware, but this time, it spat out a set of map coordinates. Local, we think." She read off the numbers. "Also, one of the owners is missing. No one has seen him since yesterday, and he isn't answering his phone. " Mike handed her Rickard's address. "Jason Rickard. He has a partner who's out of the country right now." A long pause, while she waited, apparently on hold. "He's checking to see where this place is", she said. More waiting . "OK, where do you want us? Right. We'll meet them. I'll call you as soon as we know something."

She turned to Mike. "He says the coordinates are the location of a building about a half hour from here. It's a factory. He's sending a SWAT team to meet us there. He's also sending a couple of agents out to Rickard's house to see if he's there, and if he's OK. Dennis, he wants you here on this Mr Shiny malware.. See if you can find out how it got in."

III

The factory was a brick building, disused, its windows mostly broken, surrounded by a chain link fence held shut by a rusty padlock and chain. The bolt cutters from the SWAT truck made short work of it, and Max, Mike, and eight heavily armed SWAT agents began exploring the building. They entered through a door on the left side, located next to a larger roll up door that had been used for loading and unloading trucks. One of the SWAT agents forced it with the aid of a door opening tool, and they entered a wide, high ceilinged room with a concrete floor. The room had been made for trucks and forklifts. But parked inside it was a black Audi S8.

Mike tried the passenger side door on the Audi, and found it unlocked. There was a styrofoam coffee cup in the drink holder. A computer case in the back held a laptop.

Mike and Max remained together, while the SWAT team paired off into four teams, and they began combing the building. The rest of the building mostly proved to be a study in urban decay. Graffiti, broken glass, detritus, and in one corner of what looked like the loading area, a metal drum that had apparently been used as a fireplace by someone homeless. There was no electricity, and where there were no windows, the place was in darkness.

Near the center of the building an area had been partitioned off with flimsy wooden walls. A door on one side said NURSE. Mike tested the door, and found it was unlocked. Inside he found a small office space, and beyond it an exam room. He opened the door to the exam room and shone his flashlight inside.

There was an exam table, and a man lying on it. His head had been shaved, and what looked like an incison ran the circumference of his head just above his eyes. The sheet beneath him was soaked in dried blood, which had come from the wound around his head. More blood had run down onto the concrete floor. He heard Max gasp in horror. He checked for a pulse, knowing he would not find one. He walked out through the nurse's office. "In here!", yelled. "We've got a body!"

The rest of the building yielded nothing. The dead man's wallet was designed to hold a phone as well as money and cards. The phone was gone, but there was nearly $2,000 in cash, assorted credit cards, and a driver's license proclaiming him to be Jason Rickard. In life he had sandy brown hair. Whoever had operated on him had shaved his head. His incision had been covered over with what looked like surgical glue.

"What the hell was this?", Mike asked. "Freelance brain surgery?"

"I don't know", Max replied. "But I think it blows Shelby's theory about Russian intelligence pretty much out of the water. We're not looking for a spy. We're looking for a complete whack job."

The discovery of Rickard's body brought more agents, police, and a medical examiner. It also brought Shelby himself. Max and Mike were standing outside when he arrived. Max was checking the time, thinking that she would have to call Gwen and warn her they would be late. She was about to reach for her phone, when Shelby walked up. "Didn't expect to see you here, Weston", he said to Mike.

"I rode along", Mike said.

"So I see", Shelby replied.

"His house was broken into", Shelby said. "Pretty sophisticated job. There were surveillance cameras, and they were remotely monitored, but the landlines were cut, and it looks like they used a signal jammer. Once they got inside, they wiped the recording equipment. We have no idea who, or how many. The security company says they lost the signal at 2:23pm. We're not sure what they took. The hard drive is missing out of his desktop. The My sense of it is that someone sent in a sweep team to go through the place and remove evidence. The question is evidence of what?"

"Someone took his phone", Mike said. They left a laptop. We think the phone may have had pictures on it or video that could have identified the killer. We'll have to get his phone records and find out what calls he made prior to his death."

"Time of death was around 2:00am, Max said. He left work about 4:00pm yesterday. We don't know yet where he went or who he saw. RCS took their sweet time calling us about the hack and checking on Rickard's whereabouts. There's a guy there named Coleman that Mike and I want to talk to. And Dennis is still there, and we need to retrieve him at some point."

"It looks like someone basically took the whole top of his skull off", she continued, "and then glued it back on. They did something to his brain. They may have actually removed it."

"Go talk to Coleman", Shelby said. "And see what Fuchida has found out about this hack."

IV

On the way back to RCS, Max called Gwen and made apologies for the fact that they would likely be late. "You said it would be like old times", she said.

"Little did I know", Mike replied. "Do you think he knew his killer?"

"I think someone lured him to some sort of meeting, we don't know what for, and then he got taken", Max said. "Yes, I think he did know his killer. And this break in at his house looks bad. He'd been dead over twelve hours when those security cameras went dark. If whoever killed him broke into his house, they took their time doing it. On the other hand, he'd been missing long enough for people at RCS to wonder what was up. And they took their time calling us."

"Maybe someone at RCS was involved", Mike said.

"Maybe. But Mr Shiny was used to give us the coordinates to find Rickard's body. It's like someone was sending RCS a message. I definitely want to talk to Marloth when he gets back from his trip. If this maniac has some sort of a beef with RCS, then he could be next." She sighed. "I hate we're going to be late getting to Gwen's. I know we have a job to do, but sometimes...It's like I need little pieces of normal to hang on to. "

Mike looked over at her. "You've got me."

She smiled. "I know. And that means everything."

She sat silent, for a moment, her eyes on the road ahead. _And then again,_ she thought, _maybe that's what I've got here. Just another little piece of a weird and deeply twisted normal_.

V

They found Dennis where they had left him, staring at the monitor, a can of Diet Dr Pepper and a small, half eaten bag of tortilla chips on the desk. Dennis had found a vending machine somewhere. "This is going to be a stone bitch to trace", he said. "Mr Shiny did a number on the event logs and the command history. As for this email we got, I'm guessing it'll trace back to a zombie PC. This dude may have control of a bot net somewhere."

Max studied the monitor in front of Dennis. "Can it be traced?", she asked.

"I don't know yet"

Mike heard someone behind him, and turned to see Coleman enter the room.

"I wanted to tell you that Mr Marloth will be back tomorrow. His flight is due at 3:30pm.", Coleman said.

"Yeah?", Mike said sharply. " Well while you were talking to Mr Marloth on the phone this morning and not checking to see what happened to Rickard, he was laying dead in an abandoned factory. Someone sawed his skull open."

"I had no idea..." Coleman said. "We had paged him, and left messages. I assumed he'd call back. Look, please understand. I was carrying out Mr Marloth's orders. He wanted to reach Mr Rickard before calling the FBI."

"The I was only following orders defense didn't work at Nuremberg, and it won't work in Federal court if we decide you're obstructing", Mike said. "You might keep that in mind. Do you know of anyone who might have had a motive?"

"The only people I can think of who might have wanted to hurt him are Islamic extremists."

"Islamic extremists", Max said, doubtfully.

"Yes", Coleman replied. "I said earlier that we have a social media service called Missive Link. We've had problems with terrorists using their Missive Link pages to spread propaganda, or to recruit. Any time we become aware of something like that, we take the page down and close the person's account.. We recently took down several pages that were being used by extremists in ways that violate our terms of service. It's possible that the terrorists retaliated. Executives of other social media companies have been threatened for taking down terrorist web pages."**

"Have you received any kind of specific threat?", Mike asked. "Because if you have, you haven't said a word to us about it."

"There has been no specific threat, but I can't imagine anyone else who would have done something like this.", Coleman replied.

"We'll be conducting more interviews with you staff", Max said

"We'll give you our full cooperation., Coleman replied.

"You damn well better.", Mike said sharply. "Wait outside."

After Coleman left the room, Mike said "Islamic extremists my ass".

"I've never heard of them doing anything like this", Max said. "I don't think this was Russians, or Chinese, or any kind of terrorist we've ever heard of."

VI

They didn't get to Gwen's until 8:30. Before they left RCS Mike had hit the same break room vending machine where Dennis had got his tortilla chips, but tortilla chips and an oatmeal cookie weren't much after a long day. He asked Gwen if there was anything he could do. Max was already heading for Ryan Jr's crib.

As he set out silverware and plates, he looked over at Max, sitting on the couch, with Ryan Jr cradled in her arms, and two of them looking contentedly at each other. Max was asking him if he had been a good boy today. He didn't answer, but she seemed pretty sure that in fact he had been.. Little pieces of normal, Max had said. Maybe she had something there. Max had become his new normal, and he could no longer imagine life without her. Could he imagine her holding their child? That would be a huge change. No, not yet. But maybe he could imagine a day when he would be able to imagine it.

"So how was it?", Gwen asked, as she opened a bottle of wine.

"How was what?", Mike asked. He had been lost in thought.

"Your first day back on full duty", Gwen said.

"Oh. Well, you know what they say. It's Wednesday. If you can make it over hump day, the rest of the week is downhill from there."

VII

Max Hardy stood before the door to her uncle's apartment. She reached into her pocket for the key, realizing as she did so that she hadn't been here in a long time.

Everything was just the way she remembered it from her last visit, when Mike was lying in the hospital and she was nearly sick from worry and fatigue. Ryan was poring over some photos spread out on a desk before him. Photos she couldn't make out, because you can't read anything in a dream.

She stepped forward her uncle, but after two steps, her feet seemed rooted to the spot. _Because I can't touch him in a dream_

Ryan looked up from his papers and photos. He seemed different this time. He looked tired and worn. "Welcome back", he said. "I've missed you."

"I"ve missed you too", she said. "Every day you've been gone. How are you? Where are you?"

"Me?", Ryan asked. "I'm good. Maybe a little scared."

"Of what?"

"Of you.", Ryan replied. "Of the three of us, I always thought you were the strongest, because you were strong enough to remain true to yourself. That's what scares me. Because I'm afraid that you won't be able to understand."

"Understand what?"

"I'm afraid hat you won't understand what I'm doing, or why I'm doing it.", Ryan replied. "That you can't understand me anymore. That you'll see me, but you won't be able to recognize me.. I'm afraid that I'll lose myself, and that will mean losing you too."

"Ryan you're scaring me. Whatever this is, whatever has happened, I love you. Please come back."

"Remember what I said before, Max. Keep your eyes open. Always."

"Please come back."

"Max, are you OK?"

She recognized Mike's voice, felt his dear, familiar body pressed against hers. "Mike?"

"I'm here. You were having a dream. Must have been one hell of a dream. You were talking in your sleep."

She turned toward him, and lay her head on his shoulder so that he could put his arms around her. "What was I saying?"

"You were saying 'Please come back'. What was that all about?"

"I dreamed about Ryan." Instantly she regretted having said it.

"Oh God, Max I am so sorry."

"They never found a body", she said. " I keep thinking... what if he's still alive?"

"That's impossible."

"Is it?", she asked. "I can't get it out of my mind. I keep thinking about it. What if he's out there somewhere? What if something happened and...and he can't find his way home?"

"No", Mike said. "Ryan's gone. You have to accept that. You have to. I know it's hard. I miss him too. "

"They dragged, and dragged and dragged that river."

"I know that", Mike said. But if he were alive, he would have come home. Why wouldn't he? Maybe you need to talk to someone. A grief counselor, maybe..."

She sat up. "I'm not crazy!", she said, sharply.

"I didn't say you were." Mike sat up, and put a hand o her shoulder. "I don't think you are. You're not crazy, you're grieving. I know a thing or two about that. We both do. It takes time. It's like a deep stab wound, which is something else I know a little bit about. It doesn't just heal up over night. It hurts for a long, long time, and even after you think it's healed all the way up you can still feel it sometimes. "

"Just think about what I've said", he continued. "Give it a few days, think it over. Ok?"

"Ok", she nodded. "I'll think about it. It was just so real. I'm sorry."

"Don't be"

"Hold me", she said, and sank into his arms. " I think I need a little piece of normal."

Musical Interlude: Aviary by Ego Likeness

* Yes, this is all real. And don't bother asking for a URL.

**Yes, this too is real. As of this writing, none of these threats have been carried out.


	3. Chapter 3 - Everything About Everyone

Chapter 3 - Everything About Everyone

Disclaimer: It's fanfic, meaning I don't own anything or make any money off of it. It's a labor of love. Please don't sue me.

This chapter is rated T. Apart from some language, I don't think there's much in this chapter that wouldn't pass muster on an episode of The Following. If you're old enough to watch The Following, you're old enough to read this.

They sat at breakfast the next morning, mostly in awkward silence. Max studied her pancake closely, as if she thought it might do something unexpected. Mike pretended to be deeply interested in Sports Illustrated, and the relative prospects of the Giants in the NFC East. Eventually both looked up, and said, almost in unison, "I'm sorry about last night." The absurdity of it brought a smile to both their faces.

"You're not crazy", Mike said.

Not even a little bit?", Max asked, grinning.

"OK, maybe just a little bit. But it's crazy in a good kind of way."

"I'm crazy about you.", she said, smiling. "I know you meant well when you talked about counseling, and I know you're concerned."

"They say there are stages to grief", Mike said. " You start out with denial, and you end with acceptance. I just don't want you to get stuck somewhere along the way."

Max thought for a moment, looking at her half eaten pancake. The she looked up at Mike, and said "I'm not stuck. I'm not depressed anymore. I'm not in pain. I was. Especially when you were in the hospital. I had trouble sleeping for a while. I'd go days on end on a couple of hours a night, if that, and then just crash. Sometimes I thought that I should have stuck closer to him, that it was my fault because I should have had his back."

"So how are you now?", Mike asked.

"A lot better. I have hope. I'm thinking about the future. About our future together. And I want to make the most of it. I'm dealing. I accept the fact that Ryan's gone. That's gone as in not here. But at the same time, I don't think we know everything that happened that day. Ryan went to a very dark place, after Joe's execution. I don't think we'll ever really understand what he went through. There's a lot of things that we just don't understand."

Do you believe he's still alive?"

"I don't know, Max said. "Maybe."

"Based on what? A dream?"

"Call it a feeling. That one day he'll be there. Like I said, I have hopel. For us, and maybe a little bit for Ryan. But for now, wherever Ryan is, if he is, we have to get on with our lives. Even if Ryan's alive, it doesn't mean he's coming back anytime soon. If ever. But that feeling is still there."

"Ok", Mike said doubtfully. "I just don't want you going to a dark place. And don't tell me not to worry, because I will anyway." She smiled, and her smile reassured him, but not completely.

Mike decided that it was time to change the subject. "So what have you got planned for today?", he asked.

"I'll be working with Dennis. We'll try to trace where Mr Shiny came from. And we need to interview Marloth when he comes back from Europe. You?"

"Probably surveillance or stakeout", Mike said. It may depend on whether Jermain is well enough to come back to work today. Why do you think they delayed calling us?"

"My first thought was that maybe they were covering up some kind of sloppy security practices. People get careless. They take classified material home that they shouldn't. They keep files and emails on unsecured computers. But the more I think about it, the more I think it was something else. That break in took some skills. Someone knew what they were doing, and came prepared."

"We're assuming", Mike said, "that whoever killed Rickard was stone cold insane. Maybe someone had a rational motive, and the brain surgery was their way of trying to hide why he was killed."

"Maybe", Max replied. "Although I think it's safe to say that anyone who would do what we saw is pretty bent. But I see your point. There's a long list of people we need to talk to, starting with Marloth, and Rickard's ex, and we'll know a lot more if I can trace this hacker. That's the person I really want to talk to."

II

When they got to the office that morning, Shelby was in the ops center, reading over what looked like a surveillance report. He motioned them over.

"Weston", he said, "I want you with DiPaulo today. Surveillance. We got a name out of that phone you picked up last night. Moustapha Darzi. He was in regular contact with those guys we arrested. I want to know where he goes, who he sees, what he does. We're getting a warrant for a phone tap. Hardy, my office."

Max turned to follow Shelby, shooting a worried glance at Mike while she did. In Shelbyspeak, the words "My office" often preceded an ass chewing.

They entered Shelby's office, and he shut the door. "Sit down", he said.

Shelby sat behind his desk. "What was Weston doing there yesterday?"

"He wanted to ride along, Sir. It was my day off, we had planned to spend it together, and well, it was kind of spur of the moment."

"I don't like spur of the moment", Shelby said, "and I worry about personal feelings clouding judgement. I'm not here to give you a hard time. Ryan and I were close, we worked together many times. I never met you until I was assigned here, but Ryan talked about you, and he told me many times how proud he was of you. He was a hell of an agent, but he had a really nasty meltdown there at the end, and people remember that. Even before, he had trouble separating his personal feelings from the job. I would hate to find out that runs in the family."

Max thought for a moment. "I understand Sir, and I'm sorry. I'm not Ryan." Instantly, she was ashamed of herself for having said it that way.

"Well, you're like him in some ways. You're a damn good agent, and I want to make sure people think of you that way, and not just as Ryan's niece. And I want to make sure you stay out of trouble, because I owe that to Ryan's memory. Having said that, I understand that you're not Ryan, but you better understand that I'm not Gina Mendez. I'm not nearly as generous as she was with second chances. Now I want you with Fuchida, working on the Mr Shiny case, and that includes Rickard's murder. That's all."

"We're on it", she said, and left to find Dennis.

III

Although Mike had never worked with John DiPaulo before, he known him for three years, and they were friends. John was a few years older than Mike, heavyset, blonde hair, and a moustache. They waited, parked next to a convenience store two blocks from Darzi's apartment, on a clear, chill windy morning. Traffic was light as rush hour was over with. Darzi, it appeared, was not an early riser. There were still quite a bit of traffic through the store. John had left home without breakfast, and had asked Mike, who was driving to stop so he could get something to eat. He returned with a box of potato wedges and a coke, and the smell of greasy fried chicken on his clothes. Apparently the ventilation in this place left something to be desired. He ate quickly. At the moment, two other agents, Woloszyn and Burnworth, had eyes on Darzi's apartment, but they would have to be relieved shortly, before their extended presence tipped someone off.

"We've already got a GPS tracker installed on his car", John said. Burnworth and I put that in the wheel well before you got here. But we need to keep eyes on him to make sure we're tracking him and not just the car. The problem we've got here", John said, around his last mouthful of potato wedge, "is that I think Barnburner's got eyes on his car right now, and he's driving. Watch it at the takeaway*. He lost a guy right there on takeaway last month. Dude looked right at him, and he thought he'd been made. He took his eyes off the dude, because he was trying to be inconspicuous, and the dude drove off right in front of him." Mike wasn't sure how Burnworth had acquired the nickname Barnburner.

"We have about fifteen minutes before we relieve them", Mike replied. "After that, it'll be our turn to worry about looking like fools."

John gave him a look of disgust. "It happens", Mike said. "I mean, the best of us can have a bad day"

"Yeah, well, I'm having a whole of those these days", John said. "That's why I'm eating this crap in a parking lot." He paused. "Ann's filing for divorce. I'll tell you about it later. And for the record, I really don't want to find myself explaining to Shelby how we had ourselves a bad day."

"Nickel one", came the voice on the radio. "Target's on the move. We lost him."

"Goddammit!" John exploded. "Barnburner! The best of us can have a bad day, but we ain't talking about the best of us. What's he gonna do next, gargle peanut butter?"

"Be cool", Mike said, as he pulled out of the parking lot and turned right. "We'll head down Nathaniel. If he's coming this way, we can pick him up."

They watched the road ahead closely, both of them on edge. Half a block down the road, Mike pointed at a Camry, it's blue paint peeling off. "There", he said. "Call them."

John grabbed the radio mike. "Nickel 2, they're northbound on Langer. They just crossed Nathaniel. We're on 'em.". He held the mike in his hand for a second, clicked the transmit key again, and added "Smooth move, guys."

They remained a discreet distance behind Darzi for another block and a half, when the Camry signaled a right turn. John glanced at the GPS. "Moron", he said. "That's a cul de sac. Guess they don't have a lot of GPS where he comes from. Pull in here", he said to Mike, pointing at a strip of small shops.

"Relax", Mike grinned. "The other side can have a bad day, too."

"We are surrounded by amateurs", John said. "On all sides."

IV

Darzi appeared to be running a surveillance detection rout, but didn't seem to be checking closely to see how any cars nearby might be reacting. After making a few turns to check for surveillance, he contented himself with a trip to a Pakistani grocery store and then returned home. Later that morning, he simply made a short drive around the neighborhood and returned home. "He's being careful", Mike said. He knows about the guys we arrested, and he's going play it cool for a while. He knows me might be here, and he might actually have made us. So he does nothing much for a while, and waits."

"I still think he's an amateur.", John said.

"Don't get overconfident", Mike replied. "He might actually be hard core, and he's just acting like he's clueless. He tries to get us complacent, and then he makes a move and fades out. And our relief is in position. What do you want for lunch?"

"There's that taco place on Meade."

"Tacos are good", Mike said.

They ate in the car, in case Darzi suddenly started moving again, and they were needed. "So anyway", John said, "the upshot of it is that I'm getting divorce raped, and I'm losing the kids."

He took another sip of his Diet Coke. "The reality is, I guess, that she was never mine. It was just my turn."

"Where'd you get that one?", Mike asked. "The internet?"

"Actually, yeah. One of those red pill web sites. I think those guys do make some good points. Honestly, I'd tell a guy today not to ever get married."

" You don't really believe that", Mike said.

"The hell I don't", John replied. "Look where it's getting me."

"I'm thinking of proposing to Max."

John sat in silence for a few moments, chewing on a mouthful of soft beef taco. "You know I think the world of Max, right?'

"Yeah", Mike nodded.

"But look at yourself. You're still young, you're a good looking guy. You have options. This should be the best time of your life."

"It is", Mike replied.

"Things change. People change."

"So if I just stay single nothing will ever change". , Mike said, grinning.

"They'll change in a different way. You can have a relationship. Or two. Or whatever, but when it ends, it doesn't cause your whole life to implode. After you're married, everything is really stacked against you."

"I'm not saying you're wrong", Mike said. "At least, not completely wrong. You say I have options. I have the option to marry Max. Or not, depending. But whichever one of those I choose, I'm still closing the other option off. You can't keep all options open forever, and if you try, you end up losing all of your options, and then what have you got? A whole bunch of nothing."

"I spent a year", Mike continued, "chasing that guy who stabbed me. And the whole time I took for granted that she'd still be there when I got back. Wrong. She was never going to let me take her for granted, not even if that hurt. I could have lost her. There's never any guarantees for anyone, anywhere, ever, of anything. But you don't want to turn the possibility of a bad outcome into a self fulfilling prophecy."

"Sounds like you're going to marry her."

"Maybe. I don't know yet. It's a big change. But I can tell you this much. Max has had plenty of chances to leave me already, and Max is still there. I may have some doubts, but they're not about her. They're about me."

"Well whatever you do", John said, "I hope it works out for you. Better than it has for me." He slurped the last of his Diet Coke. "Back to the grind."

V

Max found Dennis sitting at his desk. There was a can of Diet Dr Pepper and a small bag of mini pretzels on his desk next to his Alice Cooper bobblehead, and he appeared to be typing up a report on his computer. "So what's the plan?", Dennis asked.

Max looked at the laptop. "Marloth's not due in until this afternoon", she said. "So that gives us some time. And Rickard's ex doesn't live that far away. So lets's get into the data you brought back from RCS first. Then we'll interview Mrs Rickard." She leaned over to pick up a sheaf of papers from his desk As she did so, he caught sight of her new shoulder holster.

"Nice", he commented, pointing. He began singing, in a low voice, " _You belong to the city. You belong to the night, living in a river of darkness, beneath the neon light"_

Max gave him her best "You goofball" look. "I make this look good", she said. She scanned the papers. "My God. His brain really was surgically removed."

"Yeah", said Dennis, "and they found traces of curare in his system. That's a paralytic. He actually might have been conscious during the procedure."

She shook her head in disbelief. "I just got off the phone with the Portland field office. Mr Shiny wiped a lot of stuff at RCS, and it's going to be hard to ever trace the hacker from there. But there's that email from the computer in Portland that gave us Rickard's coordinates. Assuming you're right, and it was a hacked computer, then we might have a better shot at tracing Shiny though the computer in Portland. So the Portland field office is getting a search warrant as we speak."

"Smart", Dennis commented. "Of course Shiny might have thought of that already."

"He might", Max replied, "But we don't have a lot to go on and we have to start somewhere. How's your leg?", she asked.

"It's better", said Dennis. "I didn't see that trailer hitch. I was focused on that guy we were chasing. The one with the knife."

"Knife?"

"He never got anywhere close to nailing Mike", Dennis said quickly, his face revealing the knowledge that had just screwed up.

"I doubt we have the same definition of close", Max replied. She stared at the monitor for a moment. "Thank you", she added.

"Thanks for?", Dennis asked.

"Thanks for looking out for my boyfriend", she said. "I can't always be there, and trouble finds him."

"Let me save this", Dennis said, as the laptop finished booting. He clicked Save for his report, thinking, as he did so, that Mike was likely to be pissed. "OK", he said, changing the subject. "Let's get to it."

VI

The morning wore on, with Max and Dennis poring over the computer monitor. Max eventually allowed herself a cup of coffee. The empty Diet Dr Pepper cans in Dennis' wastebasket were fruitful and multiplied. "So what do you think?", Dennis asked.

"Well I did think that maybe one or more psychos grabbed Rickard and made him give up his passwords. But it doesn't look like he was logged on when the Shiny worm hit. So now I think that either the hacker had a back door into the system that no one at RCS ever knew about, or maybe someone at RCS brought in an infected memory stick, plugged it into a USB port, and Shiny got in that way." Her phone emitted a beeping ringtone, the same one Jack Bauer had used in 24. She picked it up. "Max Hardy". She looked over at Dennis and mouthed the word "Portland".

She listened for a minute. "Ok,", she said, "can you set it up so we can remote access it from here? Good. We'll stand by." She put the phone down.

"So it's Jack Bauer now?", Dennis asked. "I liked the one that played So Important".

"I don't think Shelby cared for that one", she grinned.

"It's gotta suck for someone", Dennis said. "It wasn't their fault their computer got hacked, and then the Bureau shows up with a warrant, and there goes their emails, their vacation pictures, and their porn collection."

"They'll get it back", Max replied. "OK, we're online. So let's start with Netstat***." Her fingers flew across the keyboard, and rows of characters, each beginning with the letters TCP appeared.

She studied the monitor. "Looks like we have something connected to port 70277. Probably a Trojan, probably from our hacker. So let's see if we can get his IP." Again, her fingers danced across the keys. A twelve digit number appeared.

Dennis stared at the number. "That's a Russian IP", he said.

"Five bucks says it's spoofed, and I can trace it."

"Uh uh", Dennis replied. "I'm not betting against your awesome computer fu."

She worked intently at her keyboard, grinning. "Got it", she said, with a predatory smile, and pointed at her screen. "Those are the coordinates, and they're not in Russia." Under location, her screen showed two numbers.

39.395507

-82.390392

"Check those", she said.

Dennis called up a map site on his computer. "Looks like some place in North Carolina. Shouldn't be too hard to get an address. But it's probably public access wifi".

"Like I said", Max replied, "we gotta start somewhere."

Dennis suddenly leaned forward in his chair. "Damn it", he said. I should have caught that earlier. It totally got by me."

"Caught what?"

"Mr Shiny. Mr Albert Shiny", Dennis said. "It's a literary reference. OK, I'm a geek."

"I know this", Max grinned.

"Albert Shiny was a character in the Cthulu Mythos. H P Lovecraft. He wrote horror stories..."

"I know who H P Lovecraft was, Dennis", Max interrupted.

"Albert Shiny was a shoggoth. An amorphous blob, basically. But Shiny could control his shape well enough to assume any form he wanted, so he could look like anyone, and attack totally without warning. There were also creatures that removed brains. Mi-Go. They put the brains in special cylinders where they were kept alive. But the person then existed in a state of total sensory deprivation, and went completely mad." ****

"Well that's good to know", said Max. "So we have a nut job who's deeply into Lovecraft?"

"Either that or we've got Lovecraftian horrors running around New York."

"We've got enough horrors running around in New York already.", she replied. "So I go to Shelby, and tell him we should put out a bulletin. If anyone sees a guy with tentacles, please call the FBI."

"Or it could be zombies", Dennis grinned. He put his hands out in front of him. "Brains! Braaaaaiiins!"

Which proved to be exquisitely bad timing, because he hadn't seen Shelby walking up behind them. "Fuchida", he said, "did you wake up this morning with a case of the dumbass?"

"Sorry", Dennis said hastily.

"So where are we?", Shelby asked.

Max gave him a short summary of what they had learned.

"Was the RCS hack launched from North Carolina?", Shelby asked.

"It could have been", Max replied, "but Shiny could have hacked the Portland computer from there, then moved, come to New York, launched the RCS hack and killed Rickard, and by now he could be anywhere. And we don't even know that Shiny is just one person."

"You said Rickard's phone was missing. Did you pull the phone records?"

"Yes", said Dennis. "And there was a pattern of suspicious calls. In the week prior to his death, we see several numbers that appear only once. It almost looks like he was talking to someone who was using burner phones."

"I've got meetings to get to", Shelby said. "I'll be out of the office for a while. Keep me posted. Call me if you need anything."

VII

Dan Shelby's first meeting was downstairs, in a warren of rooms that belonged to the Counterterrorism Division, behind a door marked RESTRICTED. You needed a special swipe card to open it.. The man he was here to see worked in an office at the end of the corridor. On his right, Shelby passed a break room and a conference room. On his left, a room with several computer work stations, and a couple of offices. At the end of the corridor was the office of Miles Galen. Galen's door was open, and he was talking to a fortyish woman with glasses and sandy brown hair cut pixie short. Shelby recognized Catherine Bailey, Galen's administrative assistant.

"Thanks Catherine", Galen said. "That's all for now. Dan, come in. Have a seat."

Galen closed the door behind Catherine as she left, and sat down behind his desk. "Coffee?", he asked. Shelby shook his head.

Galen was a tall, fiftyish man with dark, thinning, buzz cut hair, and an angular face. "I'll come to the point", Galen said. "I've been authorized two more agents for the task force, and you're going to have to come up with them."

'We're spread pretty thin as it is", Shelby replied. "I can let you have Zeke Evaro..."

"Not good enough", Galen interrupted. "Evaro was with HRT, wasn't he?"

"Yeah", Shelby said. "You know the service jackets on all my people?"

"I'm thorough. I try to know everything about everyone. It won't do. I need investigators, not SWAT When we're ready to make arrests, I'll send for the HRT knuckle draggers." He leaned back in his chair. "Mike Weston's good, and I hear he's back from sick leave."

"I've got Weston on surveillance duty", Shelby said.

"I'm also short of people with good computer skills."

"You got anyone in particular in mind?", Shelby asked.

"Max Hardy", Galen said.

"Galen, do you ever watch the news? Weston is working a terrorism case. You know Daish? Those guys who like to burn people alive? Well, we think there's some of them running around loose right here in River City. And Hardy is working a hacking case with national security implications. And there's a nut case out who likes to remove brains. This city is turning into a war zone, and you want to cherry pick my best agents."

"I'll make this simple", Galen said. "You give me what I want, or I go over your head and take it anyway. "

"I can't get 'em here before tomorrow", Shelby replied. "I can't get a replacement for Weston today, and Hardy is interviewing witnesses. She'll need time to turn this hacking case over to another agent and get them up to speed. That's the best I can do."

"Ok", Galen said. "Tomorrow they're mine".

"So at the end of two months, what have you learned?", Shelby asked.

"Specific details of our investigation are classified."

"In other words, you ain't got jack shit."

"We have more than that", Galen said.

'So do you have a theory, at least? Are we looking at an individual or a group?", Shelby asked.

"A group, I think", Galen said. "Possibly some kind of radicals. The victims have all been wealthy. So we could be looking at anarchists, or student radicals."

"You're actually going to sit there and tell me you think that a bunch of sociology majors with facial piercings, too much ink, and way too many student loans has been pulling professional hits?", said Shelby. "Doesn't sound to me like you're anywhere close to finding the people responsible."

"We'll find them", said Galen. "Your job is to make sure we have the manpower and resources we need. We'll take care of the rest."

"You'll get Weston and Hardy", Shelby said. "As for finding these people... Honestly, Galen, I don't think you can find your own ass with both hands, a map, and a Sherpa guide."

VIII

Darzi was on the move again, and this time, he had apparently decided to go shopping. He had parked his Camry, and was walking into a department store.

"Guy's been watching the wrong spy movies", John said. He was driving now, since he and Mike had swapped after lunch.

"Hang back. I'll go in and keep eyes on him", Mike replied. "He'll come out a different entrance. I'll call you, and we'll pick him up when he comes out."

Mike got out of the car, and walked after Darzi, keeping a discreet distance.

IX

Amy Rickard lived in a two story house with massive stone masonry walls, a sharply angled roof, and trim timbers painted in a light cream. The driveway that Max and Dennis pulled into ended in front of a two car garage door on the left front of the house. On the right dise of the house was a stone chimney. The tops of two tall maples could be seen behind the house, above the roof.

They followed a brick walkway to the front door. Dennis rang the bell. A woman in her late thirties answered, with shoulder length blonde hair, wearing jeans and a striped tunic. "Mrs Rickard?", Max asked.

"I'm her sister, Lindsey", the woman replied.

Max displayed her credentials. "I'm special agent Max Hardy, this is special agent Dennis Fuchida. We're with the FBI. We'd like to talk to Mrs Amy Rickard. We're investigating Jason Rickard's death".

"Please come in. She's in the living room.."

Max and Dennis stepped inside. The foyer had a bare wood floor, covered with what looked like a Persian rug. A head of them they could see a staircase leading up to the second floor, angled to the right, and to the left of that, they could see an entrance to what looked like a kitchen. The living room was to their right. A step down led to a light blue carpeted room with a fireplace on the opposite wall and a broad window to the right looking out on the front lawn. Amy Rickard was sitting on a couch that faced away from the window. The resemblance to her sister was obvious, but her blonde hair was cut shorter, about collar length, and she looked several yeasr older.

"Amy", Lindsey Rickard said, 'these people are from the FBI."

"Max Hardy", Max said, "and Dennis Fuchida . We're very sorry to intrude at a time like this. Our condolences on your loss."

"Thank you", said Lindsey. "Please, sit down."

"We're investigating Jason Rickard's death", said Max. "First of all, do you know of anyone who might have had a reason to want to harm him?"

"No", Amy replied.

"We were told", said Dennis, "that he might have been threatened by Middle eastern terrorists. That his company had been taking down web sites that the terrorists were using, and they weren't too happy about it.'

"I've never heard of anything like that", Amy replied. "Now we were separated, but I never heard of any kind of threats made against Jason, by anyone."

"How long have you been separated?", Max asked

"A little over six months. I'll tell you, because it's really common knowledge, that I got tired of his tomcatting. That had gone on for years, and it was painful and humiliating. There were so many. It had gotten to the point that he wasn't very discreet about it."

"Was there anyone current?", dennis asked.

"Yes. There was. I think it was someone he met through work. She didn't work for the company, though. There was someone I saw at a reception, not long before we separated. I'm pretty sure he was spending a lot of time with her, and I could tell there was something between them. She was young, well they all were. Mid twenties, dark hair. But I never knew her last name. Just a first name. Eliza."

Musical Interlude - Private Investigations by Dire Straits

Max's Ringtone from 24 can be found on YouTube, and so can So Important by Sparks

*Takeaway - The moment the target of surveillance leaves a location such as his home or workplace and begins to move. This is where a surveillance team is most likely to lose him, believe it or not. There's a lot of waiting involved, and no one can be alert all the time.

** One way of detecting surveillance is to turn into a cul de sac and see who follows. But it doesn't work if the people tailing you know the area well or have GPS, because they'll just wait for you to come out.

***Netstat is a tool for finding out what other computers are connected to a computer online. It's in all computers, including the computer you're reading this story on. Most of us never learn how to access it or use it, because mostly we never need to. Basically it shows what other computers are connected to yours, and what port they're connected to. As a general rule, the higher numbered the port, the more likely it's something hinky.

While reading up on hackers and how to trace them, I learned that it's not uncommon for hackers to use a spoofed Russian or Chinese IP I also ran across an article by a hacker explaining why law enforcement can't trace a spoofed IP. Wrong. The guy sounded like Doctor Doom talking about how he could always elude the law, and it occurred to me that there might actually be some guy doing five to ten who read this crap and believed every word of it. The men and women who investigate computer crimes for the FBI are smart and wired together. They do this stuff for a living. Please don't test them.

**** Albert Shiny appears as a non-player character in the Call Of Cthulu role play game by Chaosium, in an adventure called At Your Door. So yes, Dennis is in fact a geek. For that matter, so am I.

14


	4. Chapter 4 - Apex Predator

Disclaimer: It's fanfic, meaning I don't own anything or make any money off of it. It's a labor of love. Please don't sue me.

This chapter is rated T. Apart from some language, I don't think there's much in this chapter that wouldn't pass muster on an episode of The Following. If you're old enough to watch The Following, you're old enough to read this.

Chapter 4 - Apex Predator

He stepped off the elevator and walked down the hall to his left, towards the reception room. He entered, and walked up to the desk. There was a new receptionist. She was beautiful. They always were. This one was a slender blonde with long hair halfway down her back, fair skin, and horn rimmed glasses. "May I help you?", she asked.

"I'm here to see Eliza", he replied. ""She's expecting me. Tell her it's Mr Hands."

The blonde picked up the phone. "Ma'am? There's a Mr Hands here to see you. He says he's expected. Yes Ma'am, I'll tell him." She hung up the phone and said "She'll be a few minutes. If you'll just have a seat, she'll see you shortly."

So that's how it was. She must be pissed, so she was going to make him wait.

 _Fucking bitch._

"Thank you", he said.

He took a seat on the couch, and took a glance at the available magazines. The New Yorker, The Wall Street Journal, and The Counter Terrorist. Now that's a hell of an eclectic mix, he thought. He reached into his jacket pocket and took out the small tin of cinnamon flavored hard candies. He put two of them in his mouth at once. He always took two of any kind of hard candy or cough drops. He wanted to taste it. He glanced at the clock. He'd be able to get a good idea of how pissed she was by how long she made him wait.

He sat there, tasting the hot cinnamon, lost in thought. He'd worked for the bitch for two years, now. The pay was damn good, if you had a strong stomach, which he did. But when you worked for Eliza, you worked for her. You didn't look around for competing offers. It was pretty much of a full time commitment, maybe even a lifetime commitment. Great pay, lots of bennies, long hours, and you had to develop callouses on your soul. And the severance package could suck.

You could judge bosses by a couple of things. First, whether they were smart or stupid, and second, by whether they were lazy or energetic. Smart was better. So was lazy. A lazy boss would let you show initiative, and would do less damage if he was stupid. Eliza was hella smart, but she was also energetic, which meant that she was always coming up with ideas. It also meant she kept close track of you and didn't encourage initiative.

He had shown initiative. He'd know in a few minutes how much trouble he was in.

He sat impassively, waiting. Never let them see you sweat. "Mr Hands", the receptionist said.

He looked up.

"She'll see you now"

"Thanks". He looked at the clock. Fifteen minutes. So she was pissed, but he'd probably live.

He walked down the hall, rounding a corner to his left, and found himself facing her office door, which was open. She was sitting behind a U shaped desk on the corner, looking at some papers spread out before her. Behind her the window showed a view of the Manhattan skyline. It was the kind of view that costs one hell of a lot of money. He entered, and shut the door. He walked over to the desk, and looked at the papers she was studying. "So what did I do this time?", he asked.

"You know perfectly well", she said. "Sit down".

He took one of the two chairs that faced her desk. "I like the smell of that cinnamon candy, Mr Hands", she said. "But it doesn't quite cover up the smell of tobacco and cloves. You reek of it. You should quit smoking."

"I tried", he said. "I heard the shit gives you cancer. But then, working for you, the last thing I worry about is getting cancer."

She looked at him with a gaze that could have pierced concrete. "You should have called me", she said.

"I know", he replied. "Adrian called me in a scared shitless panic. He said Rickard had been killed and our computer system had been attacked, maybe by our lone gunman, and he wanted me to take a team out to his house and sterilize the place."

"You don't work for Adrian, Derek, you work for me. And I expect to be kept closely informed. At all times."

"I figured we were under time pressure", he said."Marloth thought the FBI might show up. The fact is, Rickard was a dumbshit, and careless, and there was no telling what he might have left lying around."

"So what did he leave lying around", Eliza asked.

"There was some DNA here and there. Bloodstains, and such. We unbolted the big stuff from that playroom downstairs and carted everything off. We went over that prison cell with bleach, and we flushed a bunch of bleach down those floor drains. We took the hard drive out of his computer and anything digital we found we took. Cameras, flash drives, whatever. So if he left anything incriminating lying around, we probably took care of it. I thought that's what you were paying me for."

"It's one of the things I pay you for", Eliza said. "Another is prompt and complete reporting of your activities. And maybe a little respect."

"So I take it this wasn't the lone gunman", he said. "Do you want me to track this Mr Shiny down?"

"You're a blunt instrument, Derek", Eliza replied. " A very useful blunt instrument, I'll grant, but I can't use you for a complex computer crimes investigation. We'll leave that to the FBI. You'd never get anywhere near him. Besides, I know who he is. I've known all along."

"So who is he?"

"You don't need to know that"

"The hell I don't", he said. "We've had four of our people taken out by this one guy, and I thought this was maybe number five. But no, I really don't need to worry because this time it's a totally different guy. So I guess everything is cool."

"Spare me the snark. For once. You won't get near him. I'll have to get him to break cover, and I'm working on that. Did you talk to Coleman?"

"Yes", he said. "He said Opticon Scintil will be back up and running in a couple of days. The gap in coverage will be very brief. It shouldn't be a problem.. And he knows that this is vital to our operation. You know, I think you might want to consider putting him in charge of the data mining end of things."

"I already have", said Eliza, smiling. "And in this case, I think you're right. It's the Opticon Scintil worm we have in the government's personnel database that lets us operate. The government collects vast amounts of information about its employees, and we have access to all of it. We know who has money problems, who has nasty habits, and we know who we can compromise. It's what gives us our moles, and we can't function without them."

"At least we get something for all those taxes we pay", he grinned. "What are you we going to do about Marloth? The FBI will want to talk to him."

'I've already spoken to him", said Eliza. "He will be met at the airport by his attorney, who will be present during questioning. Which is to say he'll be met by an attorney I've picked out, who answers to me. At the first sign of trouble, he'll lawyer up."

"They aren't going to like that."

"They'll live with it", Eliza said. "Adrian will exercise his God given right to remain silent as an American citizen. If he knows what's good for him. If he gives up his right to remain silent, then I will count on you to silence him. As you point out, he's replaceable. The only way they can compel him to talk would be to put him in front of a grand jury, and our people will see that it never comes to that. And if it does, you'll see that he's room temperature."

"OK", he said. "Is that", he said, pointing at the monitor behind Eliza, "Hardy's lunkhead boyfriend?"

"Yes,", Eliza replied. "Mike Weston. He's been sidelined for months because of his injuries, so he just hasn't been a factor until now. I'm reading through his FBI records. I have to get up to speed on him. I've read everything about Max Hardy, of course. But now they'll be working together on the task force."

"Is he going to be a problem?"

"I doubt it, and we may even find a way to use him.'

"I am", he said, "as you say, a blunt instrument. But sometimes blunt is good. Wouldn't it be simpler if I just had Max Hardy brought in?"

"No. It's a good plan. We'll stick to it."

"The plan didn't include Rickard being killed. Maybe it's time to consider changing plans."

"You're not a planner, Mr Hands. Stick to what you're good at."

"Whatever", he said. "I live to serve. And afterwards?"

"She's ... interesting", said Eliza. "They both are. But her especially. I can think of several possibilities."

"I'll just bet you can. So what do want me to do now?"

"For the moment, nothing.", she said. "Have a team on standby in case I need you. I've just hired some new bodyguards who look promising. With everything that's been happening, we need to up our security."

"Same as the last bunch, I suppose", he said. "All this muscle you hire overseas", he grinned. "You're outsourcing our American jobs".

"Just remember to keep me informed in the future", Eliza said. "Or I'll outsource you. Now I have work to do."

He had been dismissed. He rose, turned to leave, but stopped at the door.

He turned to face Eliza. "You know, what you're really selling them is an illusion. It's not the thrill of being transgressive, it's not even the thrill of killing. It's the illusion that they can be like you. The apex predator. But it is just an illusion"

She looked up from the file she was reading. "I believe it was Spengler who said that a predator is the highest form of life, and also that it was everyone's enemy. So it helps if they think I'm attractive at some level and they want to be like me. It means I can hide in plain sight. But Spengler also said that a predator never tolerates an equal in his own den. You'd do well to remember that, Mr Hands. "*

He walked out, closing the door behind him.

 _Fucking bitch._

II

Mike Weston stood by a rack of discounted polo shirts, his phone in his hand, glancing in the mirror at the man he was following. Darzi was headed towards headed towards the lingerie section. He might be doing a little gift shopping, or maybe he just like looking at the displays.

Or maybe he was headed for an exit on the east side of the building. Mike saw Darzi talking on his phone. _He's talking to someone who's going to pick him up. So the plan is to lose us right here._ Mike reached into his coat pocket for his phone, and called John. "He's headed for the east entrance. He's on the phone to someone, probably a ride. Call downtown, tell then to watch the traffic surveillance cameras. I'll see who picks him up, and we'll follow. Meet me at the east entrance, but wait until he leaves. Let him think he's lost us. Tell the other guys to hang back."

Darzi was now moving again, purposefully, towards the entrance, and not appearing to check behind him. Mike followed, checking out displays along the way as if shopping. He kept his phone in his hand. As darzi approaced he door, he quickened his pace. He didn't want him to get in a car before he had a chance to get a description and a license number.

Darzi was standing on the curb outside. Mike waited inside the building, keeping his target in sight, his phone to his ear as if he was in the middle of a call. He faced somewhat away from Darzi, keeping him in his peripheral vision. Darzi seemed to be focused on the street, and not checking behind him. Suddenly a brown Ford Taurus that had seen better days. It stopped for a moment, and Darzi got in on the front passenger side. As the car pulled off, Mike was just barely able to get a license number. He called John on his phone.

""Call downtown. Brown Ford Taurus, license victor juliet foxtrot eight thuh-ree zero five. Headed south. Pick me up". He waited, impatiently, asking himself what the hell was taking John so long, knowing that it only seemed like half an hour. He saw John approaching from the direction that Darzi had headed, and dashed recklessly out itno traffic to meet him on the other side of the street. An irate driver blew a horn at him from what sounded like about six inches behind him. John was braking to a halt in front of him, and blocking traffic, and now the drivers behind him would be getting irate too.

Mike jerked the driver's side door open. "Out, I'm driving!"

"The fuck.."..

"Out!, get on the other side!"

John complied mumbling something about Mike being a fucking maniac. Mike slid in behind the wheel, and whipped the car into an illegal U turn, John uttering a string of obscenities that meant more or less that this was not procedure, and they were on the hook for this car if Mike wrecked it.

Mike sped up, and a call came on the radio - the Taurus had been spotted on a traffic video cam on Layne. Mike took a short cut by cutting the wrong way down a one way street, with John questioning his sanity, his ancestry, and more besides. "There!", Mike said. Up ahead was the Taurus, seemingly oblivious to their presence.

"OK", Mike said. He thinks he's lost us. "Now maybe we find out where he doesn't want us to see him go."

"Only if you don't have a wreck", John replied.

III

They followed the Taurus for the next twenty-five minutes, hanging well back, and at times trusting the traffic cameras to give them a location. But eventually he turned into what looked like a metal scrap yard, and Mike and John moved off and let Burnworth and Pardo take up a position where they could keep the scrap yard under observation. Mike parked out of sight of the scrap yard, and they waited.

"Ya know", John said, "if you ever get tired of the Bureau, you might have a future in NASCAR. Or maybe Demolition Derby."

"Nickel One", came Burnworth's voice on the radio. "Target's changed vehicles again".

"Are you sure it's him?", John asked.

"Positive. He got out, and there were some guys, and there was a rental truck, a Carzwell Rental, a van, it's painted green...hell, he just drove right past us. License seven niner five five niner India. Proceeding west on Nash."

"You don't suppose..." John said, letting the thought trail off.

"OK", Mike said. "This is the part where we call for backup."

IV

They followed the van for two blocks. John was looking at the GPS. "Fuck me", he said.

"What now?", Mike asked.

"We're headed towards a school. I don't know if that's where he's headed, but if it is, he'll get there before HRT can arrive. If that really is a bomb..."

"We'll stop him now". Mike said.

"How?", John asked. Mike made no reply, but sped up. "Mike, you're getting too close, he's gonna make us! We're right behind him! Have you lost it?"

They were approaching an intersection. Mike looked at the traffic light, hoping for a break. Yes!, the light had turned yellow.

The van slowed to a stop. Mike didn't. He slowed a bit, because he didn't want to do serious damage. Just a good bump. "Mike!", John yelled. Brakes!"

The car hit the rear bumper of the truck. Mike unbuckled his seat belt, and reached into his jacket pocket for his phone. He turned on the hazard light, and opened the door. "Wait here", he said. "Don't make a move until I do. If he sees two guys get out, he'll wig." He got out of the car, leaving John sitting there with a look of horror on his face.

Mike got out of the car, phone in hand, and walked toward the truck. "I'm sorry, buddy", he said, loudly. "I was on the phone. I took my eyes off the road." Darzi was looking back at him. "Look, man, I'm so sorry. Let me pay for this. I swear, I'll make this right."

He was close enough to the van to get a good look at Darzi's face. A heavy, jowly face, with a moustache, and a stubbly beard. He was almost there...

""Please don't call the cops", Mike said. "I'll make this right. I don't want a ticket."

He was at the door. And Darzi wasn't buckled up. Now if only the door was unlocked...

Mike let the phone drop from his right hand, reached for the door with his left, and yanked it open. Then he reached in with his right hand, grabbed hold of Darzi's upper arm, and pulled for all he was worth. Darzi, not buckled up, pitched over to his left, and Mike began dragginf him out of the vehicle. As he did so, he could see Darzi reaching with his right hand, trying to push his jacket back to get at something. Darzi pitched over, and fell hard to the pavement. Mike dove on him, trying to get hold of his right arm before he could pull a weapon or reach for a detonator.

Mike grabbed his arm and began twisting it behind him. Darzi kept struggling, but he couldn't get to his weapon, and he was down on the pavement. Mike heard John running up behind him, and they soon had Darzi cuffed. They found a small black 9mm semiauto tucked inside the waistband of his pants.

"Hold this guy for a second", Mike said. He left John to watch Darzi, and looked in through the open drivers side door of the green van. He could see, in the back, dozens of orange bricks connected together by electrical wires. He reached for his phone, and then remembered dropping it on the ground. He searched for it, and saw it lying on the pavement. The face was cracked, but it still worked. He called the FBI office downtown. "This van is full of Semtex. We need the bomb squad, and we need to get everyone the hell away from this intersection."

V

Max and Dennis were on their way to the airport Max was driving. Dennis pointed to a coffee shop. "Stop here", he said. "We've got time, and I need caffeine and carbs".

Max checked the clock on the dashboard. "OK", she said. I could use a little pick me up myself."

The shop occupied the corner of a small strip shopping center. There were a few outdoor tables, unoccupied in the cold weather. Inside the place was mostly empty, with only two tables occupied, by a bored looking fortyish woman with blonde hair who sat lost in her phone, and an elderly man staring intently at a Mac laptop. There was a big screen TV showing the news with the sound turned down, and Cold Blooded, by The Pretty Reckless was playing on the speakers. The counter was manned by a bored looking man with short dark hair, a short beard, and wire rimmed glasses. Dennis studied the available selection of empty carbs and opted for a pumpkin cream cheese muffin with chocolate chips to go with his coffee. Max noticed some sandwiches in a refrigerated case, and picked out something called a Thai veggie wrap, which came with some fresh fruit, and a bottle of water.

They sat at a round table marked off with a chessboard. "So what have we learned?" Dennis asked.

"Not much", Max replied. "I'd like to find this Eliza person. If she was someone he did business with, maybe Marloth or someone at RCS can tell us. We still don't know much about the Shiny worm or how it got in. I'd like to take a look at Rickard's house. I'm curious about that break in."

Max was facing towards the counter, where the barista was fiddling with his smart phone. But Dennis, who was facing towards the TV, was looking up at it intently while Max as talking. "Holy shit", he said.

"What?", Max asked, looking over her shoulder.

"Could you turn that thing up?", Dennis said to the barista. There's been a bomb threat or something."

The barista reached under the counter for a remote and turned the volume up, then walked across the room to turn down The Pretty Reckless.

"...police and FBI are on the scene. The truck, seen here, was apparently packed with explosives. Unconfirmed reports say that the driver was possibly connected with ISIL. FBI agents apparently had the man under surveillance and managed to stop him before he reached his intended target. Sources tell GNN that an FBI vehicle bumped the truck from behind at an intersection, and an FBI agent, pretending it was an accident, walked up to the terrorist, dragged him out of the van, and subdued him.. Police evacuated people from the intersection, and traffic was rerouted. The bomb was safely disarmed. There are no reports of injuries."

The woman droned on, but what held Max and Dennis riveted to the spot was the sight, in the background of Mike Weston, with FBI clearly emblazoned in yellow on his raid jacket. "Excuse me", Max said. She began got up, and began walking to the back of the coffee shop towards the ladies room. She locked herself inside, and stood in front of the sink.

She looked at herself in the mirror, leaning on the sink for support. _I know it was him. It's not enough that I had his blood all over me. It's not enough that I had to see him lying there, hooked up to tubes and machines. It's going to really happen. His luck will finally run out, and I'll have to watch him die._

She stared at the dark haired, blue eyed woman holding on to the sink. She felt a weird sense of detachment. The woman in the mirror didn't seem to be feeling anything like the fear that gripped her. The woman in the mirror looked OK. Max wondered how she managed. Because her heart was hammering in her chest, and she felt like she was losing control. _Control. Just hold it together. Go back to work._

She washed her hands, walked back to her table, and sat down.

"You OK?", Dennis asked. "You look a little pale."

"I'm fine". _Liar_

"He's OK, you know."

"I know", she said.

She took another bite of her veggie wrap. It had suddenly become completely tasteless.

VI

Max and Dennis stood at gate 20, waiting for British Airways flight 105 to pull up and for Adrian Marloth to debark. In the event, the flight was thirty minutes later than the delayed time they had been given. Max killed the time checking her email, and reading a text message from Gwen. Finally, passengers began streaming off the jet bridge. Adrian Marloth was one of the first to step off accompanied by a tall, heavily built man with a buzz cut. Max and Dennis watched as they met by two more men, one of them short and middle aged, the other larger, younger, and built more like a linebacker. Max and Dennis walked up and produced their credential.

"Mr Marloth", said max, "Agents Max Hardy and Deniis Fuchida. We're sorry to trouble you, I know you've had a long flight, but we's like to ask you a few questions. We've actually borrowed a room from the TSA people here at the airport where we can talk"

"Excuse me", said the short, middle aged man, "my name is David Benton, I'm Mr Marloth's attorney. Is my client being detained?"

"No sir", Max replied. "We just need to ask a few questions. We're investigating the hack at RCS, and the death of jason Rickard"

"Well, I have had a long flight", Marloth said, "but II do want to cooperate with your investigation. David will go with us. He nodded at the man mountain standing next to him. "This is Mr Arcos, and Mr Parasca, my bodyguards. They''ll wait outside. Nick, will you please collect my luggage?"

They walked a short distance to an office in the TSA Pre area and sat down. "We're going to want to look at personnel records at RCS", Max said. "We're not sure how this computer worm got into your system, but one posibility we're looking at is that someone could have carried in an infected memory stick. So we're concerned about a disgruntled employee, or something of that sort. We'll be talking to your HR department, obviously. Off hand, do you know of anyone who might have had a motive to deliberately sabotage your company in this way?"

"No", Marloth replied. "Of course HR may know something I don't, they keep up with employee records, including disciplinary actions, day to day, and I'll see that they give you full cooperation."

"We were wondering", said Dennis "If there had been any specific threats against the company or against Mr Rickard. We understand that the company had been taking down web pages that terrorist related".

"I don't know of a specific threat that had been made against us", said Marloth. "I can tell you that threats have been made my terrorist groups against people in our industry, usually after a web site or social media page gets taken down for violating terms of service. I am sufficiently concerned about the possibility to have hired some personal security recently, as you can see. Nick hasn't been with me very long, a little over a month, but I decided that it was time to be proactive."

"Did Jason Rickard employ a bodyguard?", said Max.

"No", Marloth replied. "Although I thought he should, and I urged him to do so. I think he was uncomfortable with the idea. He valued his privacy, and I don't think he wanted one around."

"After you learned of the hack", she asked, you wanted Mr Rickard to be located and informed before the Bureau was called, and as a result, we weren't called immediately. In fact, it was hours before we were notified. Why weren't we called sooner?"

"I wanted to be sure that someone was there who was authorized to provide any information or assistance you required. I know it took time before you were called, and I regret that. I had no idea that any harm had come to Jason, and I kept thinking and hoping that he wuld call, or that someone at the company would be able to locate or contact him. I'm sorry it took so long for you to be called, and I wished someone had been sent to jason's house sooner to check on him. I'm actually going to jack some people up for that."

"We were told that he may have been seeing someone. All we know about her is that her name was Eliza. Do you know who that was, or where she could be reached?"

" I'm afraid not.'

"We thought it might have been someone he did business with", Dennis said.

"Again, I don't know"

"She may have attended some sort of company reception", said max.

"Agent Hardy", Benton interrupted, "Is my client detained?"

"No sir", he isn't", she replied.

"Mr Marloth has had a long flight, and he's already explained that he doesn't know who this person is. Unless my client is detained, then he wishes to postpone any further questions."

Max and Dennis looked at each other. "Very well, sir", said Max. 'We'll be in touch"

"Thank you.", said Benton.

Benton and Marloth left. "Two bodyguards", Dennis said.

"Yeah", Max replied. "I hear the software business has gotten rough."

"Was it my imagination, or did he look a little shaken when you asked about Eliza?"

"It wasn't your imagination", Max said. "I don't know who this Eliza person is, but she just became my personal pet project."

"So now what?", Dennis asked.

"We head back to the office. My whole day has been spent sitting. In front of the computer, or in the car. I want to go work out. I want to run. I want to beat the living crap out of a punching bag. And I want to talk to Mike about how many of his nine lives he has left."

VII

Mike Weston and John Di Paulo stepped off the elevator at the FBI office, on their way to debriefing. "What I don't understand", John said, "is why the guy didn't just wait us out." We couldn't tail him forever. Why even try to lose us? Was he in a hurry to die?"

"Maybe he was", Mike said. "I read an intelligence update saying that some of those Daish guys have complained about people paying bribes to jump to the front of the 'I want to go blow myself up' line.*** Not everyone thinks like we do, and not everyone values the same things. Maybe you don't agree with them, but you still have to try to understand them. So yeah, maybe he was in a hurry to die."

"You'd know about that shit, I guess", John said. When Mike shot him a venomous look, he added " That was a ballsy move you pulled. And I'm not saying you were wrong. Just remember what they say. If it works you're a hero. If it doesn't, you're a bum. Or, in the that particular situation, pink mist. I gotta go to the can. I'll see you in debrief." He turned right down the hall, and Mike walked straight ahead, lost in thought, oblivious to the dark haired tornado that was approaching from his six o'clock and gaining rapidly.

"Mike!"

Mike turned just as Max launched herself upon him, throwing her arms around him and hugging him close. He held her close. Her hair was a bit tousled, as though she had crossed the building at a dead run. "It's OK", he said. "I don't have a scratch on me."

She looked up at him, her face a mixture of anger, joy, and overwhelming relief. "Gary Burnworth told me. You couldn't wait for HRT. "

"No", he said "I couldn't. He was getting close to a school."

"Just please remember one thing. You're all I have left now. And if anything happens to you..." She let the thought trail off. "Will you please remember that?"

"I will", I promise. We'll talk about this. I have to get to debrief, but we'll talk about this when we get home. I love you."

She nodded. "I love you too. I have to run by Gwen's, so I'll be a little late. You wanna just send out for a pizza?"

"Pizza is fine.", he said. "And we'll talk."

VIII

Max was sitting at her desk, taking care of a few last minute items before going home when Shelby entered. "Hardy", he said, "I need to see privately for a moment." She followed him into his office.

"You're off the Shiny case", he said.

"Why?"

"It's not my call. You're being reassigned. Weston too. Over my objections, I might add. You're being moved to the Terudom task force. "

"Terudom?", she asked.

"It's a code name", Shelby explained. "Terrorist, Unknown, Domestic. There's been a series of killings. Some prominent, well connected citizens have demised recently, and no one seems to know who's behind it. So far, this is off the media radar, and the higher ups want to get whoever is doing this before the press notices and starts to ask awkward questions. The task force is classified top secret. Miles Galen is running it."

"I"ve never heard of him", she said.

"You wouldn't have. He's not Bureau, he's Homeland Security"

"What's Homeland Security doing running an investigation like this? That's our job."

"Well, that's what I thought, too", said Shelby. "I don't know why he's running it. I know he's got a heavy intelligence background, and this is an interagency task force, although most of the personnel have come from the Bureau. Basically he has priority, and this is how the higher ups want it. I'll tell Weston when he's out of debriefing. What I need you to do is turn this Shiny business over to Fuchida, and I'll get him some help from somewhere. Any other case load you have on your desk, dump it off on Zeke Evaro. The task force has taken over some offices downstairs. I'll take the two of you down tomorrow. "

"Yes sir", she said.

IX

"Thanks for picking these up", Gwen said, holding the green cloth resusable grocery bag. "I ended up working late. I hated to ask you, but"...

"I don't mind", Max said. She was sitting on the couch, with Ryan Jr cradled in her arms. "Besides, I get to see Ryan Jr"

"I saw the story on TV about that truck bomb. Pretty amazing."

"It was. Actually, it made me think how lucky you are."

"What do you mean?", Gwen asked, sitting down on the couch next to Max.

"After Ryan was gone, you still had Ryan Jr. You still had something of Ryan left to hold onto. I won't even have that."

Gwen looked at her with horror. "Max, where is this coming from? It doesn't even sound like you."

"Maybe I'm not me anymore. All that time, I told myself that we'd have a future together, once he got through his recovery. It was what I looked forward to. What I held on to. Now that future is here. But it's not the same. It's not like before. It doesn't feel permanent. It feels like it could all be taken away at any moment. "

"Maybe you need to talk to someone", Gwen said.

"That's what Mike thinks."

"Maybe he's right"

"I'm fine", Max said. "I just...he acts like he's invincible."

Gwen shook her head. "No. Mike isn't the one who thinks he's invincible."

X

It was the third shithole motel in as many days. He had been days on the road, traveling by bus. It was easier to travel by bus when he was on the kill. Travel by bus was inconspicuous. He could rent a car when he got close to the target, if he needed to. He didn't always need to. That job in Colorado, for example. He had hiked to that one. Rental cars meant a paper trail, and that meant changing papers after. And that was a hassle, every time.

He walked across the parking lot, his dinner in a white paper bag clutched in his hand. The night was filled with the sounds of the city, traffic, car alarms, sirens, and somewhere in the background, a street preacher calling the sinners to repentance. The sinners seemed to be ignoring him. There were occasional syringes on the walkway around the motel, and a couple of whores were plying their trade just down the street.

He reached the door to his room, unlocked it, and entered. He set the bag of Chinese take out down on the night stand and turned on the TV. He didn't much care what was on. It was background noise to drown out the silence. He eased the big, heavy Springfield 1911 pistol out of the holster tucked inside his waistband, and set it on the bed. He sat down, and began to remove his meal from the paper it was wrapped in. Sweet and sour chicken, a plastic container of red sauce, fried rice, and an egg roll. Grease from the egg roll had soaked through the paper it was wrapped in. Jesus.

He ate quickly, watching part of a movie as he did so. Something about two vampires in love with the same girl. He got to the fortune cookie, and broke it open. "Someone is thinking about you", it said. Yeah, well... the fuckers probably were thinking about him by now. If he had his way, they'd be thinking about little else.

The movie wasn't over, but he wasn't especially interested, and he was tired. Too tired to sleep, really, but he needed to try. He undressed, and fished the long shoelace out of his coat pocket, and tied one end of it around his wrist. He took the 1911, clicked the safety off, and carefully lowered the hammer onto the loaded chamber. Then he tied the other end of the shoelace to the lanyard ring screwed into the butt. He stretched out on the bed, the loaded pistol down between his feet, where he could get at it quickly if needed. He turned out the light, and then Ryan Hardy tried to sleep.

Musical Interlude - Alone by The Dreaming

And from the coffee shop -Cold Blooded by The Pretty Reckless

* Eliza is referring to Oswald Spengler, a German historian and philosopher. The quotes (Not exact) are from Man And Technics, published in 1932.

Here is the quote rendered in full:

"For strength of individual soul the herbivores substitute numbers, the herd, the common feeling and doing of masses. But the less one needs others, the more powerful one is. A beast of prey is everyone's foe. Never does he tolerate an equal in his den. Here we are at the root of the truly royal idea of property. Property is the domain in which one exercises unlimited power, the power that one has gained in battling, defended against one's peers, victoriously upheld. It is not a right to mere having, but the sovereign right to do as one will with one's own."

**Mike used an old carjacker trick, where the carjacker bumps the victim from behind at a stop sign or a red light, walks up on them, and drags them out of the car. This is not seen as much as it once was, but it still happens. You have been warned. Buckle up, and lock your car door. If you get bumped from behind, and it's a group of young men, give serious consideration to driving off, red light or no. That's not Mike Weston back there.

*** Strange but true

Hi gang. Absolute Elsewhere here. We are not to the end of Terudom yet, and really not even at the beginning of the end. But we are, to coin a phrase, at the end of the beginning. I've been pretty close mouthed about where this is going. But by now, those of you who have stuck it out this far may have got some idea.

Obviously there are things in this chapter that aren't Following canon. From the interviews I've read, even the showrunners had never really defined Eliza or her organization in a lot of detail. That was a problem left for fourth season, only fourth season never came.

But I asked myself, after the series finale, what it would take for an organization like this to exist and function in the real world, or at least in a world that seemed real enough to make the fans suspend disbelief. Unfortunately, I came up with an answer that seemed to make logical sense, and I became obsessed (A bit like Ryan Hardy), with how Eliza's outfit operated and what it might do next. Thus was born Terudom.

I give myself a lot of credit for coming up with the idea that the Big Bad had compromised the government's personnel management database, which gave them the ability to recruit moles everywhere, and for coming up with the idea before the China OPM hack made this front page and real world. (If you don't know what I'm talking about here, fire up a search engine.) Sometimes I flatter myself that it's a good thing I'm not working for America's enemies, but mostly they seem to do just fine without me.

So obviously in trying to fill in the background details on Eliza and her organization, I've gone off the meter, which is standard operating procedure for fanfic, but maybe I've gone a bit farther than most. Also, Mr Hands is not Following canon, but Eliza needs someone to talk to and interact with if she is to function as a character. There can't be just one villain. Besides, a really good James Bond type villain should have a henchman. Goldfinger had Odd Job. Scaramanga had Nick Knack. Eliza now has Mr Hands. If you want to know where the name came from, Israel Hands was Blackbeard the pirate's first mate. Since Israel is no longer a common first name, I named him Derek. Yo ho, yo ho, a pirate's life for me. And somewhere out there is Mr Shiny, whoever he might be. So we're out where the trains don't run.

One more comment about how I'm doing Eliza. A lot of times, when you have three characters, you think body, mind, and spirit. So I sort of applied this to Eliza. The body, mind, spirit, idea could apply to Kirk, Spock, and McCoy. Kirk was body, Spock was mind, and McCoy was spirit. In that same vein, I am regarding Joe Carroll as body. He was the James T Kirk of serial killers. He could go boldly. He was daring, impressive, cocky, physical, charismatic, and in your face. Theo was mind. He was highly skilled ,intelligent, a planner, and someone who could think far ahead. I'm treating Eliza as spirit. She has a particular conception of herself and what she does and why. She can't be as physically powerful and imposing as Joe, and she hasn't got Theo's skill set, but she can be quite dangerous in her own way, smart, ruthless, and maybe a bit distinctive.

So here we are, and we'll see where this goes, if it goes. There has been next to no feedback on this story, so I have no idea what people think. There could be several reasons for this. First, the story may simply suck ass, which wouldn't be surprising considering that it's my first attempt at writing fiction. Frankly, I had no idea how hard it would be until I tried it, and I may simply be in over my head. Second, the show has ended, and people may simply have moved on. Third, people may simply not know what to make of all of this. So let me know what you think. Reviews, comments, and feedback, positive or negative, are welcome.

For the record, sleeping with a loaded gun is potentially quite hazardous, and lowering the hammer onto the loaded chamber of a pistol should be attempted only by those with proper training. In short, don't try this at home.

And remember, gang, it's a creepy world. Be careful out there.

17


	5. Chapter 5 - Welcome To The Batcave

Disclaimer: It's fanfic, meaning I don't own anything or make any money off of it. It's a labor of love. Please don't sue me.

This chapter is rated T. Apart from some language, I don't think there's much in this chapter that wouldn't pass muster on an episode of The Following. If you're old enough to watch The Following, you're old enough to read this.

Chapter 5 - Welcome To The Batcave

Max opened the door to their apartment and walked in to find Mike sitting on the couch in jeans and a sweatshirt watching ESPN. "I'm sorry I'm late," she said. "I ran an errand for Gwen, and I stopped to work out."

"You're not as late as you think," he replied. "Debrief took a while. Traffic was bear, courtesy of some idiot who blew through a red light, probably talking on the phone, and anyway I'm just now getting an appetite. We stopped late for coffee before we headed back to the office."

She hung up her coat, took off and put away her gun and badge, walked over to the couch, and sat down next to Mike. Then she leaned in for a kiss, and he put his arm around her and pulled her close. "I've been missing that all day," she said.

"Me too," he replied. "So...pizza?"

"Yeah. We could order from Petralia's. I have a coupon. Thin crust, the works?"

"Extra cheese," he said.

"Extra cheese. And I''ll get some salads."

She called Petralia's and placed their order. "Thirty minutes,"she said, as she put her phone down on the coffee table. As she leaned in to wrap her arms back around Mike, she noticed his phone on the lamp table next to him. It's face was badly cracked. "What happened here?" she asked.

"Oh. I, uh, dropped it today, during...all of that. I'm hoping Shelby will give me a reimbursement, or at least let me take it off my equipment allowance."

"All of that?" she asked. "You mean you, and the suicide jockey, and the truckload of Semtex? You mean that?"

"Yeah, I mean that," he replied.

"Look at it on the bright side," she said. "Phones are replaceable. You aren't."

"And I want to talk about it," he said. He picked up the remote and clicked the TV off. "I told you I would be careful. I was. I did what I did because there wasn't time to wait for HRT. Even if I had, the only way to be sure of stopping him was to take him by surprise. If he had seen HRT, or the cops, he would have hit the switch right there. I wasn't being a cowboy. You know that, right?"

"I never said you were," she replied. "All I said was that you're all I've got. And that's the truth."

"You told me you had hope. Do you?"

"Yes," she said firmly. "But sometimes hope comes with fear attached. I've had your blood all over me. I'm allowed to be scared. To be afraid for you. I've earned the right. It doesn't mean there's something wrong with me."

"I don't think there's anything wrong with you. I think it's been very hard for you. I think you've been through a lot. But I swear to you that I'm not going to take foolish chances. Do you believe that?"

After a moment's hesitation, she said "Yes. Look, I understand. I don't think you were reckless. It's not you, it's me. If I'm scared, it's because I love you. I've lost a lot. I can't lose you too."

"You won't," he said. "I promise. And on the bright side, we'll be working together again. So you can keep a close eye on me at all times."

"And I definitely will," she said, grinning. "I'm not letting you out of my sight. I want to change clothes. Give me a minute." She kissed him and headed for the bedroom. He watched her go, wondering if she was really OK.

He could understand her being afraid. He'd given her reason enough. He'd been reckless plenty of times. He realized, suddenly, how different things were now. How different he was. He looked back on things he'd done, and it scared the living hell out of him. He'd put himself at risk. Worse, he'd put her at risk. He couldn't think of the beating she'd taken from Daisy without shame. He'd wanted to avenge himself on Mark, but killing Mark was never going to bring his father back. Hate, he had come to realize, however hot it burned, wouldn't keep him warm on cold nights.

Killing Mark had been a short term goal, and for a while, it had been everything. Now, there was a long term future, and her name was Max. He had come through the last two years, but with scars to show for it. Max had scars of her own, but hers were on the inside. Losing Ryan had hit her hard. Did she really accept that he was gone?

She returned from the bedroom, having traded her pantsuit for a gray T shirt, jeans, and gray socks. She resumed her place on the couch, and rested her head on his shoulder. "Now where were we?" she asked.

"Something about you keeping an eye on me," he said.

"Right,"Max replied. "And while I am very proud of you, there will be no more Semtex for a while, and no more knives, ever. And yes, Dennis did let that one slip out." His face must have betrayed surprise, because she added "Don't be upset with him. Dennis is good people." He held her close, and she sighed contentedly. " Keeping you out of trouble is going to be a full time job."

"I promise I'll give you full cooperation".

"You better. I hope they get here real soon with that pizza, I'm starved."

II

The next morning found Max going through her desk, and handing her notes on the Shiny case over to Dennis. Mike alternated standing around with pacing. Shelby was expected shortly.

"So who's going to be helping you with Shiny?" Max asked.

"I don't know yet," Dennis replied. "I doubt whoever it is has your computer fu, but I'll have to make the best of it. So where exactly are you going?"

"I think the offices are downstairs," she said.

"You mean the Batcave?" he asked. "Yeah that's what they call it down there. It actually used to be a bomb shelter. Eventually someone decided that in the event of a nuclear strike on Manhattan, normal Bureau operations wouldn't be resuming anytime soon, so they turned it into office space, and they run classified stuff out of there.. I used to work with a guy who spent some time down there doing God knows what. So I guess you really can't talk about it either."

I'm afraid not," Max said, grinning. "I could tell you, but then I'd have to kill you."

"Next thing they'll be giving you a Walther PPK and a license to kill. Well whatever it is you're going to be doing, good luck. And be careful out there."

"You make it sound like this is goodbye for good," she said. "I'm just going downstairs, not overseas."

"Even so. You take care of yourself." He turned to Mike. "It was good working with you, even if it was for just a short time. I happen to know that Max keeps Ryan Jr sometimes. Maybe one of these evenings when she's busy, we could go out for a beer after work."

"I'd like that,", Mike said.

"I'm actually keeping him tomorrow night," said Max, "unless the task force has other plans for me."

"How coincidental. Chelsea's going out of town on a business trip. Karlino's? 6:00?"

"Sure," Mike said.

"So good luck, and watch your back," Dennis said. " While you're at it, watch hers."

"Count on it""

It was then that Shelby entered. "We all set here?" he asked.

"Yes," Max said. "I gave my notes to Dennis, and everything else to agent Evaro"

"Ok then. Time to meet your new boss."

III

Mr Hands stepped off the elevator onto the top floor of the RCS building, and walked toward the executive offices. As he did so, he met Zack Coleman headed the other way.

"Morning,", said Mr Hands. "They said the boss was in"

"He's in," Coleman replied. "I'm not sure how happy he's going to be to see you."

"Almost no one is happy to see me," said Hands, "because usually when I appear, it means that shit's fucked up. I want a moment with you, before I leave, but first things first. And no, you're not in any trouble. This shouldn't take long." He walked down the hall to Adrian Marloth's office. There was a receptionist in the outer office. "I'm here to see Adrian," he said. Tell him it's Mr Hands."

The receptionist checked, and told Hands that he could go right in.

Adrian was sitting behind his desk, looking worried. "What do you want?" he asked.

" Honesty. Courtesy. Trust. The answers to a few questions. Mind if I sit down?"

Marloth gestured at a chair. Hands walked over to the desk, picked up the wastebasket, placed it next to the chair Marloth had indicated, and sat down. He reached into his jacket, and produced a packet of Sampoernas.

"Smoking isn't allowed here," said Marloth.

"I'm exempt," Hands replied. "If you're going to be transgressive, do it right. Not only do I smoke where it's not allowed, I smoke $50 a pack cigarettes that it's not even legal to buy. Which are actually way worse for you than regular cigarettes because they burn hotter. It's the cloves. They burn holes in your lungs."

"So why smoke them?" Marloth asked.

"Because smoking is cool."

Hands took out a large stainless steel cigarette lighter, and lit up. "First of all," he said, "Eliza sends her greetings. We're putting some extra men on your protective detail"

"To protect me, or to keep an eye on me?" Marloth asked.

"Yes. Out of curiosity, were the fingerprints and DNA I removed from that playroom yours, or your wife's?"

"I didn't do anything down there. Neither did she. I was concerned about what would happen once Jason was reported dead"

"Whatever," said Hands. "I don't really care which one of you was killing down there. But all you had to do was call the FBI about the hack, and then call me about the cleanup job. You acted guilty because you were in panic mode, and therefore they're suspicious. "

"I don't even know that Jason killed down there. He played some kinky sex games"

"That was a lot of bloodstains to just be Jason's penchant for BDSM. Now listen The guys that we're putting on your protective detail are really good. One of them is former Spetznaz." To Marloth's uncomprehending look, he added "That's Russian army special forces. We are concerned for your safety, and we are going to take care of you."

"You shouldn't even be here," Marloth said. "What if the FBI shows up?"

"What if they do? I'll just tell 'em that I'm a consultant. Human resources. Which is close enough to the truth. I don't care if they see me. Moving right along. Do you know what I do for the Organization?"

"Some of it," Marloth replied. "I'm sure I don't know all of it."

"Well, I'm involved in murder for hire, torture, human trafficking, kidnaping, arms trafficking, extortion, sex slavery, and a moving violation." Seeing Marloth again looking puzzled, he said "Heavy Metal. Captain Lincoln Sternn. Guess you never saw it. The point is, that with everything I do, and all the chances I take, it pisses me off when people tell me that I don't really need to know all the details about someone who's hunting and killing people in the Organization, and attacking our computer systems. So why don't you tell me about Mr Shiny."

"I'm not supposed to talk about that"

"Well, I'm not supposed to hold your head in the toilet, but then again, if I get sufficiently pissed, I just might," Hands replied.

"He's a hacker".

"No shit"

"OK," said Marloth, he's the guy who wrote the code for Opticon Scintil".

"You outsourced that?" asked Hands.

"We had to. How many guys do you think can do that kind of thing?'

"So you outsourced the key piece of software that enables the entire Organization to function to a fucking homicidal lunatic. You got name for this asshole?"

"I never met him, I swear," said Marloth. "Jason handled that whole job. And he didn't report to anyone but Eliza."

"Eliza says she knows who he is. Does she?"

"If Jason gave her the guys name, then she knows. But I doubt they met face to face."

"I understand the nature of your working relationship," said Hands. "Rickard was the brains and creative talent. You had the starting capital. So what's his beef? I can't believe it's money."

"All I know is that he contacted Jason, and Jason said he was going to meet with him and make some kind of a deal. I thought it was a bad idea, but I also thought he had cleared it with Eliza."

"I doubt that very much." So it's just one guy?" Hands asked.

"As far as I know," Marloth replied. "It was only one guy when he wrote Opticon Scintil, but he could be working with others now. Maybe he's even working for someone."

"OK. I strongly suggest you treat this discussion as confidential. Out of morbid curiosity, are you involved with her? I know Rickard was."

"Not that it's any of your business, but no."

Hands extinguished his cigarette on the glass top of Marloth's desk. "Just wondering. I know Jason liked to live dangerously. Between you, me and the four walls, when she plays marry, fuck, kill, it's for keeps."

He left Marloth to consider that, and headed to Zack Coleman's office, which was on the floor below. He found Coleman before he reached his office, emerging from a break room with a cup of coffee in his hand. "Can we step we step in your office for a minute?", Hands asked. A couple of other male employees were looking at Hands, curiously. Hands glared back at them. He motioned Coleman to follow him. Once they were inside Coleman's office and the door was safely closed, Hands turned to Coleman. "I've got a question," he said. Could you take over here, if we had to replace Adrian?"

"I could run our operations here," Coleman replied, "but replacing Adrian...he's part owner of the company."

"Ownership can change," said Hands. "If Eliza completely loses confidence in Adrian, and she just might, then I can pretty much guarantee you that what has to be done will be done. I gather you're getting everything restored?"

"Yeah," Coleman said. "It just takes a while. We have to be really thorough. What I'm mainly worried about right now is this FBI investigation."

"It's being handled. I can't give you the details, but we're taking steps to...I won't say stop, but at least limit the FBI investigation and bring it under control. And you won't be seeing Max Hardy or Mike Weston anymore."

"They can quash an FBI investigation?" Coleman asked. " Just like that?"

"I said limit and control, not quash. Eliza has a plan."

"Eliza always has a plan," Coleman said.

"Yeah, well, this one is a mother. Even for her."

IV

Eliza sat at her desk, reading over the dossiers of some prospective new bodyguards. The Organization had taken some serious losses these last six months. First, an assassin had taken out four senior people, and now with this Mr Shiny business, they were fighting a two front war. So there was increased demand for bodyguards, but they had to be carefully vetted. Besides, bodyguards weren't the answer. She had a plan, and it was maturing, but until it did, she had to at least staunch the bleeding. It wasn't enough to be doing something, she had to seen to be doing something.

She found it hard to focus on the dossiers. She had, at the moment, rather a lot on her plate. Besides dealing with two different enemies, there were internal problems as well. She'd just learned that there was a problem with one the wranglers, the people who supplied the Organization with victims. The fellow had been careless, and had left traces. The Organization had to have inventory, but they had to be damned careful about where and how they got it. Middle class American girls, for which there was a substantial demand, could be tricky. Manny Araujo had sworn that he'd picked these two up overseas, where their disappearance would be much harder to trace. Not so. He greedy bastard had really wanted hat finder's fee, and now a police investigation was underway. So Manny would have to be disposed of.

She considered giving the job to Mr Hands, but decided against it. She really didn't feel like dealing with him at the moment, so she'd just do it herself. She'd take Stinnes and Kaminsky with her. She considered the method. A bullet to the back of the head? No. She wanted to send a message. There was a party coming up in a couple of weeks. Manny would become part of the entertainment. The punishment would fit the crime. Manny could render one final service to the Organization, and die screaming.

Her phone rang. Recognizing the number, she took a moment to compose herself before picking it up. "Good morning, sir."

"Good morning, Eliza," said her chief. "I wanted to touch base with you about your contingency plan, as you call it."

"Everything is in order. We're set up, and at the moment, we're awaiting developments."

"That's what I want to talk to you about. How long do you think this will take?"

"That's difficult to say," she replied. "You know we can't exactly run on a schedule. There's a tradeoff between speed and discretion. We can't risk having our activities traced, and in the meantime, unfortunately, our opponent has the initiative. He moves at times and places of his choosing. In the meantime, I'm increasing security around our key people."

"I understand," he said. " I think your plan is well considered, and you have my full confidence. But the fact is that people are scared. There's a feeling that we're under siege. I'm doing everything I can to reassure others, but we're in a difficult position. Is there anything else you need? Anything I can provide?"

"We're in excellent shape," she said. The only thing now would be the use of a secure facility. Have our people got that locked down?"

"Yes. It's called Site M. It's not in use at the moment, and it will be kept available until needed. The location is suitably isolated, and we have reliable people there."

"That sounds perfect.", said Eliza. " Then the pieces are on the board, and the game can begin at any time. I would, however, like to address a personnel problem."

"Personnel problem?"

"It's Mr Hands sir. I'd like to replace him. The man is impossible. He's insolent, insubordinate, he doesn't keep me informed..."

"I know he's difficult," he interrupted. "And in other circumstances, I might be willing to grant your request.. But now is not the time. Whatever else Mr Hands is, he's very efficient, and we need that. We're under attack, and at the moment, I don't feel we can spare him. That sort of thing might further undermine people's confidence. The fact is, Eliza, that this situation is very frustrating. There are a few who believe you have let us down, and would like to replace you."

"Sir, I am doing everything I can, and I will get this under control."

"I'm sure you will. As I said, you have my full confidence. But I must tell you that we have invested a great deal of time, money, and resources in your contingency plan. It must show results. If this blows up in our faces, someone is going to regret it."

"I understand," she said. "It will show positive results."

"Of that I have no doubt. Keep me informed. That's all for now.'

"Yes sir."

V

Shelby led them to the basement, to the door marked RESTRICTED. He reached into his coat pocket and produced a swipe card. "You'll each get one of these", he said.

The once inside, they passed what looked like a security/reception desk on the right that was currently unmanned. They walked down a corridor, passing nine offices on the left. At the end of the corridor there were three larger offices. The first one they came to was open, and had a number of computer terminals with agents working at them. There were two other larger offices just past it. The door to the last office was open. Shelby knocked, and Galen who was sitting at his desk, looked up. "Come in", he said.

"Miles Galen," said Shelby, "Mike Weston, Max Hardy. I hate losing them. Try to catch whoever this is ASAP so I can get 'em back."

"We'll do our best," Galen said. He rose, walked around his desk, and extended his hand. "Mike, good to meet you. That was some impressive work yesterday."

"Thank you", Mike said.

"We can use some of that around here. And Max, I've heard of you too. You come highly recommended."

"Thanks," she said.

"So to start, welcome to the Batcave. Let's start getting you up to speed. I'll have Catherine assign you an office and give you swipe cards. First, I'll have JJ read you into the Terudom case. I imagine Dan gave you at least some background. Time you heard the specifics. And Dan, I'll need to see you privately before you leave."

Galen led them to the room with the computer work stations two doors down that they had passed earlier. There were a dozen work stations in all, arranged arounf the room, facing the walls. Most were unmanned. "JJ," he said. A man in his late thirties with dark brown hair and a tanned complexion turned away from his monitor to face them. "This is Mike Weston and Max Hardy," Galen continued. "They'll be joining the task force. Bring 'em up to speed." Then he turned, and headed back to his office with Shelby.

"JJ Cantrell," said JJ. "Welcome to our humble domain. This is Andre Diggs," he said, gesturing at a tall black man with graying hair, "And Dani Mallinson". He nodded at a woman with short red hair and eyeglasses with caprice frames. There's more of us around here, and people are in and out, so you'll meet everyone else in due course. The break room is tucked in behind the front desk, and there's a storage room next to it. They'll give you an office, but you'll likely have to share. Pull up some seats, and get comfortable."

JJ pulled up a window that showed thumbnails of some crime scene photos. "This where it all started. Right here in Gotham, seven months ago. Clark Chandler, age 42. Derivatives trading, credit default swaps, and junk bond magnate. He and his driver bodyguard were both gunned down in a parking garage. The bodyguard, Mr Nicolae Cosma, probably went down first, four rounds, right in the boiler room. Mr Chandler took two in the brain, close range,.22, probably silenced. No witnesses. No apparent motive. The guy had $1200 in cash in his wallet, so it wasn't robbery. "

As he talked, JJ clicked on various thumbnails, showing Mike and Max the crime scene.

"Two weeks later, Mr Lawrence Gentzler, age 36, was killed in the locker room of a spa he was visiting in Virginia. Cause of death was being damn near decapitated with choke wire. We think the killer took him from behind, no warning, and then basically flipped him. He hit face down, as you can see. No one saw the killer enter or leave. The guy was a ghost. Mr Gentzler was in aerospace. He made avionics for that fighter plane they've been working on for the last twenty years that still doesn't work. Apparently the avionics package was shit. Hell, maybe we could classify this one as Red on Red."

More thumbnails, more photos, and these were gruesome. Blood had spread over a wide area of the locker room floor.

"After that, our guy took a break for a while," JJ continued. "We didn't here from him again until four months ago, when Mr Bernard Chilcott, Age 45, went hunting in Colorado. Turns out someone was hunting him. Mr Chilcott took a high velocity slug that evacuated his brain pan. This time there were witnesses, since Mr Chilcott liked to hunt with friends, some of whom ended up with pieces of Mr Chillcot's brains and skull all over them. Mr Chilcott was in technology, mostly as a patent troll. At first, they called it a hunting accident, which is not uncommon, but the shot was very precise, and we think it was fired from about 800 yards. Given the degree of skill that could imply, given Mr Chilcott's prominence, the hunting accident theory has been junked. It was at this point that the Terudom task force was set up, and this is now considered a Terudom case."

"The most recent killing was six weeks ago. Jill Mallory, age 39. Died in her own bathroom. Someone held her head under water in the bathtub. However, drowning was not the cause of death. Ms Mallory died of a broken neck. She was not sexually assaulted. There was no burglary, so presumably she let the guy in. Ms Mallory was part owner of an energy company that does a lot of fracking here and overseas."

"You say he held her head under water?" Mike asked. "But she didn't die from drowning. So maybe he wanted her to talk."

"That's what we think," JJ said. "But talk about what? We have no idea."

"Shelby said that Terudom is a code name for terrorist unknown domestic," said Max. "If he, or they are a total unknown, how do you know it's domestic?"

"Frankly, we don't," JJ replied. "But if it's not domestic, then it's foreign, and no one upstairs even wants to think about that. Short answer is we follow the case wherever it leads, and the people upstairs are hoping it doesn't lead overseas. But the bottom line is that wherever and whoever, we follow the case until we break it. Obviously, this is just a brief rundown. There's a lot of more detailed material you can read over, and I would urge you to do so. Maybe you spot something we missed."

"That bodyguard who was killed, Cosma," said Max. "What kind of name is that?"

"Romanian," JJ replied. "Green card, two years ago."

"Anyone else have bodyguards?" she asked.

"I'm not sure. I'd have to check."

"So how long have you been working this case?" Mike asked.

"Well until now, I've been the new kid on the block," JJ replied. I've been here about a month. Andre and Dani are charter members. Some of the people here are from Homeland Security, and we actually had someone from the CIA who came in and gave a briefing a couple of weeks ago. She spent about half an hour explaining how the Agency had no information linking this to any foreign group. Really, they pulled us in from all over. Dani and Andre were working organized crime. I was counterintelligence. Spent the last two years chasing Russian and Chinese spooks around the block."

"So does anyone have a theory?" Mike asked.

"Everybody's got a theory," Dani said. "Given the near total lack of leads, that's about all anyone does have. I think it's a group. So does Andre. It would be awfully hard for one guy to do recon on all these targets. I think it's a group effort. I'm not sure about the motivation. All these people were wealthy, and well connected, so I think there is some sort of political agenda behind it. Whether it's Left wing, or Right wing, or just plain wingnuts, I don't know."

"What about you, JJ?" Max asked.

"I think it's one very dangerous guy."

"Why one guy?" she asked. "Why not a group?"

"Most terrorist groups end up recruiting a lot of enthusiastic, or just plain fanatical amateurs who make a lot of mistakes. The Weathermen back in the 60's mostly blew themselves up because they got careless with explosives. The first World Trade Center attack back in the '90s, Oklahoma City...those guys made fundamental, egregious mistakes that resulted in them getting caught. Even Al Qaeda, when they were setting up 9-11, made mistakes that could have been caught if someone had actually been awake. But this...this is perfect. And it's easier for me to believe that there's one guy who is death on two legs behind it than to believe that someone recruited a whole group of people who can do this level of wet work. *"

"Excuse me. I hate to interrupt." Mike and Max looked around to see a woman standing at the door. "Catharine Bailey. I've got your swipe cards. You need to sign for them."

They signed the responsibility statements for the cards, and Catherine said "I'm putting you in room 8, which close to the entrance. Your swipe cards are keyed to that door as well. If you need anything let me know."

"I think for now we'll stay here," Mike said. "It looks like we've got a lot of reading to do."

"Agreed, said Max. "The restrooms are down there on the left, aren't they?"

"Yes," Catherine replied.

"Thanks"

Max walked up the hall to the break room, but saw a couple of men in there drinking coffee. She doubled back to the ladies' room, and took out her phone. "Robbery homicide division? I'd like to speak to Detective Sergeant Jim Wolosyzn. Tell him it's Special Agent Max Hardy, FBI. Yeah, I can hold." She waited for a minute or so."Jim? Max Hardy. Yeah, it's been a long time. It's good to hear your voice, too. Listen, I need a favor..."

VI

Mr Hands sat down at the bar. It was late afternoon, and he usually didn't start this early, but today was an exception. "Martini," he said to the bartender.

"Gin or vodka?"

"No such thing as a vodka martini. Do you have Death's Door gin? Lillet Blanc? Good. Then Death's Door and Lillet Blanc, with a lime twist"**

The bartender,a tall, red haired man with arms like a blacksmith covered with tattoos, mixed his drink , and placed it before him. Hands sipped it, and nodded approvingly. "When God builds a martini," he said, "that's how he does it."

He sat, savoring his drink, watching the TV over the bar, thinking about maybe ordering something to eat. Suddenly his phone began to vibrate. He pulled it out of his jacket pocket, and recognized the number. So Adrian had gone running to the Head Bitch. Well, he'd finish his drink first.

VII

They sat at their workstations, reading through reports and looking at crime scene photographs. The others had left, and they had the room to themselves. "So what do you think?" Mike asked.

"I agree with JJ. It's one guy."

"I think you're right," said Mike. "If it was a group, it seems like there would be some sort of statement claiming responsibility, or stating their program. Groups normally like publicity. Whoever's doing this avoids it. Also, no use of explosives. Someone is willing to get up close and personal. That job with the garotte..." He shook his head. "Nasty"

Catherine walked in. "Still at it, I see," she said.

"Yeah," Max replied. "Actually, I'm supposed to get in some range time. Can I knock off a mfew minutes early and finish this later?"

"Sure," Catherine replied.

"I need to practice myself," Mike said, logging off his terminal.

They left the Batcave, and Mike said "Max, where are you going? This isn't the way to the range."

"No, it isn't. It's the way to the parking deck."

"Where are we going?"

"When we get in the car," she said. "The walls have ears."

They reached the car, and Max got behind the wheel. "So? What's this about?" Mike asked. "Where are we going?"

"We're going to Jason Rickard's house. I want to have a look at it. I never got to look it over."

"You're not on that case anymore."

"Its still a crime scene since Rickard is dead. I called Jim Woloszyn at robbery homicide. We worked together back when I was in the NYPD. He's going to meet us, and let us in."

"But you're not on the case," Mike repeated.

"I can't get it out of my mind. Look, they delayed calling us, and then someone sent in a sweep team to remove evidence. I just want to have a look, and see if I can get some idea of what they might have been looking for. I just want to see the ground for myself. Remember what you said, the day Shelby called me about the RCS hack? You said it would be just like old times."

"So?"

"So," she said, "in the old days, we used to go off the reservation."

"And you used to tell us why it was a really bad idea," Mike countered. "And mostly you were right."

"There was this woman that Jason Rickard was involved with. Her name was Eliza. I never found out anything else about her. But when I mentioned her name to Adrian Marloth, he shut up, and he lawyered up. So who is this mystery woman? I just want to see that house."

"You sound like...you're really set on doing this," he said. He had started to say "You sound like Ryan," but something told him he'd better not go there.

VIII

Mr. Hands walked into Eliza's office to find her sitting at her desk. "Where have you been?" she asked.

"Going to and fro in the Earth, and walking up and down in it." She stared at him, with evident irritation. "That's from the Bible," he said. "The book of Job. God asks Satan where he's been, and Satan says..."

"And the Lord said unto Satan, Whence comest thou?" said eliza, cutting him off. "Then Satan answered the Lord, and said, From going to and fro in the earth, and from walking up and down in it.."

"Right. Like Satan, I've been out walking the Earth, and doing some evil shit. So what's on your mind?"

"More likely you've been walking to and fro in a bar. As to what's on my mind, a couple of things," she said. "I've decided to make some changes to the plan. The hack at RCS is a serious setback, but I think I know a way to turn it to our advantage. Life has handed us lemons. We will make lemonade."

"How?"

"Before we get to that, " she said, "there's the matter of your unauthorized activities. Adrian called and complained. I warned you about this sort of thing, and I've had just about enough"

"You've had enough of my unauthorized activities? Well let's talk about yours. If it had been me, and some dude had walked into that house uninvited saying he was looking for way to disappear, I would have said 'Motherfucker, you have come to the right place. Because no trace of your weasel ass will ever be found' Instead, you went and made a deal"

"He offered to deliver Ryan Hardy"

"So what?" Said Hands. "You could have said bring me the broom of the Wicked Witch of the West, or bring me the head of Alfredo Garcia. They were just as valuable. Ryan Hardy knew nothing about us, and if he did, what could he do? He was a self licking ice cream cone. A problem that came with his own solution. He was a drunk, and a fuckup, and even the FBI had had it with his shit. But he had left a trail of dead bodies across the land, probably more than Joe Carroll ever did, and you had this thing about being the apex predator. The thing that hunts and kills, but is not itself hunted. You wanted him for your playtoy. Your trophy. So you went off the books. That's why you told Theo Noble to go make bricks without straw, and then everything went to hell. Look me in the eye and tell me I'm wrong."

"I won't even dignify that with a response."

"Right. So let's talk about lemonade."

IX

Jason Rickard had lived in an impressive contemporary style house, two story, wood, with a soaring entryway and wide, high windows that curved out from what looked, from the outside, like a huge living room. There were two chimneys, one on the right side of the hose, and one on the back. The garage, to the left, had a long sloping roof, that ran up to the second floor, and it gave the house the shape of an L. There was a car parked in front of the garage, and a man sitting inside it. As they pulled up next to it, he got out. He was barrel chested, of medium height, and bald, with a luxuriant brown moustache. Max got out and walked toward him, holding out her hand.

"Jim! Good to see you!" She shook his hand warmly.

"Likewise. Look at you, Max. You've come up in the world."

"Thanks. You haven't done so bad yourself. You're a sergeant now. Jim, this is Mike Weston, my partner. Mike, Jim Woloszyn. Jim was like my mentor when I was a cop."

"Nice to meet you," Mike said, shaking Jim's hand. Woloszyn had hands like a bear.

"Max, I'm sorry about your uncle," Woloszyn said

"Thank you. I really appreciate you meeting us.. I want to see this place while it's still a crime scene. The Bureau has an interest in this case. We had some guys out here earlier, but I want to see it myself."

"Sure. Come on in." He began walking towards the front door. "From what we can tell, they bypassed the alarm, and got in through a back window to the family room. Most of what was taken seems to have come from the computer room upstairs."

The family room was visible straight ahead from the front door. It had a high, vaulted ceiling, and three skylights. To the left was a balcony that looked down from the second floor. The fireplace was straight ahead, with a large window on each side. There was a bar counter on the right side of the room

"Ok, the way we figure it," Jim said, "they got that window on the left open. You can see the broken panes there, and once they got this open, they went to the garage. We think they opened the garage door from the inside. We found some muddy footprints in there. The ground was wet, and we think they walked from wherever they had parked, and then brought the vehicle inside."

He led them to the master bedroom, located at one end of a hall that opened to the left of the entryway. "They tossed this room pretty good. We aren't sure what they were looking for. The other end of this hall leads to a laundry room, and the garage is just on the other side of that, so this is likely the first room they searched."

He led them upstairs. The balcony they had seen from the family room was actually part of the computer room. An alcove by the window held a desk. The tower had been in an internal bay in the desk, but it had been removed, and opened. The hard drive was gone. The shelves and drawers had been rifled. "They took an intense interest in the computer stuff, as you see."

"But none of this is bulky", Mike said. They brought in a vehicle. They could have hauled away something pretty big. Is there a basement?"

"There is," Jim said.

The basement had a semifinished look to it, with bare concrete floors and cinder block walls painted a kind of institutional looking gray. There were some metal storage cabinets, but they were empty. There were a couple of drains in the floor. "Look," Mike said, pointing at the ceiling. "Eyebolts"

Max walked around the basement, stopping before a small alcove with a drain in the floor. There were holes drilled in the concrete floor and in the ceiling. "Do you smell something?" she asked. "Bleach?"

Mike walked over to the alcove. "Yeah, kind of." He knelt down and sniffed cautiously at the drain. "It's coming from here. It's faint, but I think someone flushed a lot of bleach down this. And look at this. See the holes drilled in the wall? It's like there was something across the entrance that was unbolted. A large door maybe. Bars?"

Max reached for her phone, and called Dennis. "Dennis? It's Max. I'm at Jason Rickard's house.

You need to come out here and see this."

"I can't," Dennis said. "I'm off the Shiny case."

"What? Why?"

"I don't know," he said. "All I know is that Shelby came back this morning from the Batcave, and told me that I was off the case. Rumor has it that whatever hush hush outfit you've been assigned to has taken over the case. I thought maybe you were on it. Shelby pretty much blew a gasket, and I think he actually called Washington. But I'm off the case, and if you're not on it, then I don't now who the hell is."

Musical Interlude - Your Dark Secrets by Joe Bouchard

* The expression seems to have originated among Soviet era Russian spies. Wet work, or wet operations, got the name because they involve the spilling of blood.

** Yes, there is a gin called Death's Door. I had some for the first time last week. It's distilled in Wisconsin, and it rocks. The idea of a ruthless professional killer drinking a gin called Death's Door was irresistible. For the uninitiated, Lillet Blanc is a French aperitif wine. Mr Hands prefers it to vermouth in a martini.

Hi gang. Absolute Elsewhere here. Thanks to those of you who sent in feedback, constructive criticism and reviews. Normally I send a PM thanking people who post reviews. Anna, you posted a guest review, so I can't do that in your case, but I'll take this opportunity to say thanks, and I hope you enjoy this chapter as well. As always, feedback, positive or negative is welcome.


	6. Chapter 6 - Remember Who I Am

Disclaimer: It's fanfic, meaning I don't own anything or make any money off of it. It's a labor of love. Please don't sue me.

This chapter is rated T. Apart from some language, I don't think there's much in this chapter that wouldn't pass muster on an episode of The Following. If you're old enough to watch The Following, you're old enough to read this.

Additional Disclaimer: There is no such town as Beaumont, North Carolina, and no such place as Judson County. These places exist only in my fevered imagination. There is no such a movie as Collect Call From Cthulu, but there damn well should be.

Further Additional Disclaimer: Some dark themes in this one. We're sticking to a T rating, but it is The Following, which means bad things happen. So trigger warnings apply, for triggers getting pulled and other unpleasantness. Eliza is getting out of the office this time. Merry hijinks ensue.

Chapter 6 - Remember Who I Am

The black Chevy Express van made its way slowly through the late afternoon traffic. Eliza, sitting in the passenger seat, fumed with impatience. They had gotten a late start, and they needed to be at Alley 17 Studios before Manny left for the day. She hated doing jobs like this on short notice, and daylight made it worse, but this was urgent. As if this wasn't enough, she was facing another short notice job tomorrow night, and even more was riding on that one. The Organization paid her well. Times like this they made her earn it.

She reached into her coat pocket and took out her phone. She had time to take care of a couple of details before they got there. She began by sending a text to Mr. Hands. MY OFFICE 9:00 TOMORROW MORNING. BE ON TIME OR ELSE. She then put in a call to the offices of Fairfax International Forwarding. "Warren? Eliza. I'll be dropping a package off shortly. Make sure you have someone there to help unload. I should be there in an hour or so. Right." She hung up, and put her phone back in her pocket. As she did, she was aware of the weight of the P30SK* in her shoulder holster. She looked over at Kaminsky in the driver's seat, looking intently at the road. "Next left", she said. It was hardly necessary, since the GPS would have told him as much. It really hadn't been necessary to text Mr Hands. She realized that t he conversation with her chief that morning had made her nervous.

A few minutes later, the van pulled onto a narrow street lined with shops. Alley 17 was on the left, next to a used bookstore. With which it shared a building. The bookstore faced the street, the studio faced a small parking lot with a narrow gravel road at the back of it that ran around several buildings and led to another parking lot that was shared by a bar and a small gallery.

"Turn into the lot in front of the studio," said Eliza. Back in to a space near the door. When we leave, go through that lot there," she said, pointing at the space behind the bar, "and then if you go right you come out on the next street over. Then hang a left. We don't leave the way we came, and no one should see us."

Kaminsky backed the van in a space near the door, carefully selecting a space between the door and the street. Its bulk would obstruct the view of anyone passing by. Eliza got out, hearing as she did the rear door of the van opening as Stinnes, riding in the back, got out as well. Eliza walked into the studio, Stinnes behind her, Kaminsky bringing up the rear. She looked around the room, a small reception area, with a few cheap office office furniture chairs, a couch that had seen better days, and a front desk that was unmanned. Good. So he was probably alone, and in the back.

At that moment, Manny walked into the waiting room, a short, thickset man with olive skin, coal black, curly hair, and a moustache. "Eliza!," he said. "I wasn't expecting you."

"Good," she replied. Stinnes, a tall man with close cropped blonde hair, stepped forward quickly. Manny looked at him fearfully, realizing, too late, the depth of trouble he was in. Before he could react, Stinnes had driven a large, iron hard fist into his gut. Manny doubled over in pain. Stinnes grabbed one of his arms, and twisted it painfully, forcing Manny to turn around. Kaminsky stepped forward, producing a taser from his pocket. He jammed it into Manny's ribs, and Manny cried out in pain, falling to the ground. He lay there twitching feebly. Kaminsky produced a set of zip ties, and began tying Manny's hands behind him.

"Frisk him," Eliza said. She walked through the door Manny had come in from, and began searching the rest of the studio, checking to make sure no one else was present. There was a room full of lights, backdrops, and other equipment, storage room, a bathroom...all empty. Good. She walked back to the front, to find Stinnes gagging Manny with duct tape and Kaminsky holding onto his arms. She walked outside and stood by the front of the van, looking around to see if it was safe to move their captive. There were a few cars on the street, but they wouldn't be able to see the rear of the van or the front door. She looked across the parking lot towards the bar. Nothing. She motioned to Stinnes and Kaminsky, and they quickly bundled Manny into the back of the van. Stinnes got in the back with him, taser in hand in case Manny made trouble.

Kaminsky got back in the driver's seat. Eliza turned off the lights in Ammey 17, hung a closed sign in the door, and got back in the van. Stinnes turned to the right, going through the parking lot behind the bar. He turned right into a very narrow gravel driveway that ran between the bar and a real estate brokerage, and then turned left onto the street.

II

Fairfax International Forwarding was located in a small industrial park. From the outside , it appeared to be a brick building, rectangular, abut two hundred feet by eighty feet, with three roll up doors on the back side large enough to accommodate delivery trucks. The high chain link fence around it topped with razor wire could be explained as a simple concern for security and the need to protect valuable property. The same could be said of the two guards at the front gate.

It was doubtful that any passers by even noticed the heavy frosting on the few windows, and certainly they could not see that those windows were fitted with vibrators to defeat any laser microphones trained on them. Nor could anyone from the outside see the heavy soundproofing that had been added to the building by the current tenants.

The van pulled up to the front gate and stopped. One of the guards peered into the driver's side window from his position inside the guard booth. Eliza leaned over so that he could see her face. "I'll let 'em know you're here Ma'am," he said. He pressed a button, and the wide, heavy gate began to slide open. Kaminsky drove around to the back. A roll up door towards the right side of the building was open. He drove inside, and they found themselves in a garage. There were two men in the garage dressed in dark blue coveralls. As soon as the motor was switched off, the roll up door began to close. Once it was completely shut, Stinnes opened the rear door of the van, and he and two men in coveralls hustled Manny out of the van and stood him up. Eliza got out of the van and walked around to the back, and looked at Manny coldly.

"Put him in a cage," she said.

The men in coveralls grabbed Manny by his arms and frog marched him through the double doors at the back of the room. Stinnes followed, taser at the ready, with Eliza bringing up the rear. They found themselves in a large room, about forty feet long, the cinder block walls painted a drab, institutional dark green. Along the back wall were five doors to what looked like prison cells, with small barred windows at the top. There were four cages in the room also, that might have been made for large dogs. They removed Manny's zip ties, ripped the duct tape off his face, and then forced into one of the cages. It was too low for him to stand in, and not long enough for him to lie down. "Eliza, please," he protested. "What's wrong?"

"The way I see it, Manny," she said, "I'm doing you a favor. It was only a matter of time before someone brought a successful prosecution against you for that sleazy web site of yours and those underage models. Do you have any idea what happens to guys like you in prison? I'm going to make you suffer, but you won't suffer nearly as long as you would in the pen."

"Eliza, please, I can explain..."

"There's no need to explain. I already know. You lied about where those girls came from, and you left a trail. It was only a matter of time before the police or the FBI tracked you down. I can't allow that to happen."

"I told you the truth, I swear! Please, if you would just listen...I'm sorry, OK. I swear I won't do it again."

"No. You won't. Because you're going to be a party favor. There's a guy who likes to burn his victims. Slowly. You're going to take hours to die."

'Please, you don't have to do this."

"Yes I do," she said coldly. "Did you know that Blackbeard the pirate used to kill his own men? It's true. And one day, after he had just shot one of his own crew for seemingly no reason, someone asked him why he had done it. And do you know what he said? He said 'If I didn't kill some of you now and then, you'd forget who I am'. You're going to die, Manny. Slowly. Painfully. Horribly. Because you broke my rules, and you lied to me, and because I want everyone around here to remember who I am."

She turned, and began walking back towards the garage. "Eliza, please!" he cried. "I 'm sorry! I have a family!"

"They'll get over it," she said, over her shoulder, and then walked out, never looking back.

In the garage, she spoke to Stinnes and Kaminsky. Be here tomorrow at 1:00pm. This," she said, pulling a piece of paper from her coat pocket, "is the name and address of a man you'll be tailing tomorrow. He'll be leaving work some time after 3:00pm. He works at RCS, which is where you'll pick up his trail. Keep me posted. I want to know where he goes. Be discreet. Memorize the name and address." They both studied the paper for a moment, and then handed it back. She then walked though a door on the right side of the garage and entered a much larger garage where staff parked their cars. She got in her dark blue Porsche 911, and drove out through the roll up door.

III

Mike drove as they headed back to the office through the Friday afternoon traffic. Most of the world was looking forward to the weekend, and part of it seemed intent on risking death in its eagerness to get home from work. "So what's the plan?" he asked.

"I doubt Galen's going to be at the office when we get back. I want to ask him why the task force is taking this case. It's not nothing in common with any other Terudom case. These other killing were clean. Someone was fast in and fast out, and they left no trace. Rickard's killing was out of a horror movie. And there was no computer crime in any of the other cases. What the hell? And if the task force is taking over the case, why don't they give it to us? We both worked it."

"You want to call Galen?" Mike asked. "You might catch him before he leaves. For that matter, the man has a phone even if he has left."

"No," she replied. "I want to have that conversation face to face. I want this case. I want to know why he claimed it for the task force. And I want it."

"What if he doesn't give it to you?"

"I want it."

"I got that part," he grinned. "I'm just saying"

"I'll talk to him," she replied.

"Be tactful"

"I am tactful." She looked over to see Mike grinning. "What?"

"Nothing," he said. "I just wonder if the man knows what he's unleashed. Seriously, I think it is weird. I don't understand it either. I want to look at the case files some more. I agree with JJ. I want to go over everything they've done so far. Maybe they missed something. We can work on that tomorrow. Changing the subject for a minute, is Gwen working tomorrow night?"

"No," said Max glumly. "She's going out with someone."

"You mean like a guy someone?"

"Yeah," she replied. "It's not a date, or anything. They're just going out with some people"

"You say that like it's a bad thing," he said.

She didn't answer. After a few seconds, Mike said "It's a good thing she's getting on with her life."

"I guess," she said. "Yeah, it's a good thing."

He glanced at her. She turned her gaze to the road ahead, but not before he saw, in her eyes, the pain of Ryan's loss.

IV

Mr Hands walked into Eliza's office at 9:07am. "Note that I was here on time," he said. "I was kept waiting".

"Noted," she replied. She pointed to a briefcase on a chair in front of her desk. "Forty thousand dollars," she said. And a memory stick infected with the Shiny worm."

Hands picked up the briefcase, placed it on her desk, and opened it. He took out a stack of bills, and began riffing through them. "You don't trust me?" Eliza asked.

"I don't trust anybody," Hands replied. "That's why I'm still alive. So I'm doing the black bag job and you're doing the hit?"

"Yes," she replied. "I've already got the weapon, It's a 9mm Glock. I've got the replacement barrel and the silencer."

"Don't those replacement barrels come with serial numbers?" Hands asked.

"They do. This one is sterile**. We picked it up overseas. I'm not going to try to remove a serial number. The FBI crime lab has gotten awfully good at defeating that sort of thing. Ammo will be something from the FBI approved list."

Hands removed a thumb drive from the briefcase, and studied it for a moment before putting it back. "This guy have a wife? Girlfriend? Dog?"

"No, no, and no," said Eliza.

"You sure?"

"Yes, I'm sure. He's a single, lonely, hard working computer geek. He's working today, helping RCS to finish restoring their system. No pets. We've got access to all of his social media, and Zack Coleman knows him. No dogs, or any other furry friends."

"So presumably he's not spending Saturday night at home playing World of Warcraft.. Because if he is..."

"Every Saturday, he goes to a place called Continuity Coffeehouse and Cinema. He's a creature of habit, which makes it easy. I'll have a couple of men watching him when he leaves work, but he should arrive right on schedule. The parking lot isn't very well lit. He'll never make it to the front door."

Hands stared at Eliza for a moment. "On a public street? Jesus shit. Girl, you got bigger stones than most guys. What if you're seen?"

"It's a stolen license plate, and I'll have my hair pinned up under a ball cap. And if I'm seen, well...that could work too, from a certain perspective. If he does go home, we'll do it there, but wait for me. We have to use the Glock. If he goes somewhere else, we'll improvise. But it has to be tonight."

He shook his head. "Whatever. Better you than me. So I guess you aren't making the party at the House this weekend. You always go."

"I wish I could go, but this has to be taken care of.."

"No rest for the wicked," he grinned.

Eliza looked at him sharply. "It's good thing you became a hit man, because you would have starved as a comedian."

"That's what they said when I auditioned," he replied. "Don't give up the day job."

V

Max planned to keep Ryan Jr that evening, and since her after work schedule differed a bit from Mike's, they arrived in separate cars. Max left a few minutes early in the hope of talking to Dennis before heading down to the Batcave. She found him at his desk, booting up his computer.

"Morning," she said.

He looked around. "Hey there. How's the cloak and dagger business?"

"Busy," she said. "I've only got a minute. I wanted to ask you something. Did you ever get an address on those coordinates that the Portland hack came from?"

"Yeah. It was one of the last things I did before I got yanked off the case."

"And?"

'They don't have computers down there?" he asked, doubtfully.

"They do, but I'd rather nobody down there knew I was asking questions about this."

"Beaumont, North Carolina. Corner of 8th and Sanford. It's place called Hammer's. It's a coffee shop."

"So it was public access wifi like we thought?" she asked.

"Looks that way. What are you into, if you don't mind my asking?"

This case has gotten under my skin. I can't let go of it."

"You be careful," he said.

"I always am," she replied. "Thanks. I gotta go."

Downstairs, Max used her swipe card to open the door to the Batcave. When she walked in, she saw Catherine Bailey using a copy machine near the front desk. "Is Miles Galen here this morning?" she asked.

"He's here," Catherine replied, " but probably not for long. He's back in his office, I think, if you want to talk to him."

"I do. Thanks"

Max headed down the hall towards Galen's office. She found the door open, and knocked.

"May I come in?" she asked.

Galen was standing by his desk, looking at some papers. He put them down. "Of course," he replied.

She stepped into the room. "I understand that the task force is taking over the Shiny hacking case"

"That's true," Galen said. I think it's related to these other cases we've been looking at."

"How?" she asked. "The other killings were so different"

"The method of killing was different, but all the other victims were prominent people, in fields that are important tot he economy. Energy, finance, defense..."

"I want this case," said Max.

"I'm afraid not. I put Marchetti and Nickson on it yesterday. They already have a suspect."

"Who?" she asked.

At that moment, Catherine walked in, carrying a sheaf of papers. "A disgruntled employee at RCS. Gavin Leach. Catherine, are Bill and Alicia here?"

"They haven't come in yet," Catherine replied.

"Well, if they were, I'd have them fill you in. We got his name from Zack Coleman. Apparently he'd had some problems, he'd been reprimanded, and it turns out that he had made some threatening statements about the company on his social media. That site that RCS runs now called Missive Link. He had an account with them."

"Coleman never said anything to us about a disgruntled employee," Max replied. "Has Leach been questioned?"

"Not yet, but he will be. We think he may have been working for someone, and we're checking for suspicious bank deposits, that sort of thing. When we're sure of our facts, he'll be interviewed."

Max looked from Miles, to Catherine, and back again. "How long will that take?" she asked, becoming agitated. "And why wasn't I given the case? I'd been working it."

"Well, it takes as long as it takes, and as for why you weren't given the case, you spent much of the day reading up on the previous cases, and in the afternoon you were at the range." He added a bit of emphasis to the words "at the range."

"I think someone had a back door into their system," said Max. "I don't believe it was any disgruntled employee."

"I think you could at least reserve judgement until Leach is interviewed," Galen said. "I also think you should return to your assigned duties."

"And you got his name from Coleman?"Max continued. "The same Zack Coleman who delayed calling us about the hack?"

"Agent Hardy, that will be all."

"No it won't," she said. "This case has absolutely nothing in common with any other case we're looking at, All the other cases were straight up professional killings. There was no hacking involved, and no brain surgery either. The other cases were the work of a professional killer. Rickard was killed by a total nut job. Why can't you see the obvious?"

"Hey guys," said Mike, standing in the door. "I can hear you all the way down the hall."

Max fell silent. "I was just explaining to Max that we have a person of interest in the Shiny case, and that she's not assigned to it," Galen said. "Nor will she be."

Max turned, wordlessly, and marched out.

"That could have been better," Mike said, when they had reached the small office they shared.

'I know," Max replied. "I'm sorry. He says they have a person of interest, but he doesn't seem to be in a hurry to interview the guy."

"Well, we can't do anything about that right now. Let's get back to these other cases"

"The first man killed, Clark Chandler, had a bodyguard," said Max.

"So?"

"His name was Cosma. JJ said he was Romanian."

"And so?"

"When Dennis and I met Adrian Marloth at the airport, he had two East European bodyguards," Max said.

"Adrian Marloth isn't dead," Mike replied.

"His business partner is, and Galen says it's related to these other cases," she replied.

"That, Mike said, " is grasping at straws, and taking us back into Shiny territory. Where we aren't supposed to be." He saw her face darken. "On the other hand, straws are about all we've got right now. We're supposed to study these other cases. . So while we're at it, lets's see if some of the others had bodyguards too. Not that it seems to have done anyone much good."

VI

They spent the morning and past lunch in the computer room down the hall, reading and rereading case files.

Mike glanced occasionally at Max. She seemed a bit distracted, and at times fiddled with a slim black ball point pen as if she was nervous. Clearly, she was frustrated, and wanted to be somewhere else. Mentally, he reflected, she probably was. Other agents were in and out of the computer room using other work stations. After a while, they had the room to themselves. "Don't let it get to you," he said.

"I won't," Max replied.

"He's wrong. And he's kind of a dick."

"Kind of?"

"OK, so reviewing what we've found," Mike said. " All of these people had bodyguards, except Jill Mallory. Maybe she hired one, but if so, he wasn't there when she was killed. Now it looks like she let her killer in, so maybe it was someone she had a relationship with. Maybe she wanted a little privacy."

"Lawrence Gentzler, the second man to die, also had a bodyguard," said Max. "He was Ukrainian. Bogdan Salenko. He was on a green card, and had been in this country six months. He didn't go in the locker room with Gentzler when he was killed. He waited outside, and it looks like he wandered away from the door for a while. He got distracted by something maybe, and wasn't near his principal."

"Well, it was a spa," Mike said. "There could have been distracting things. Attractive women in workout clothes, for example."

"Yeah, some guys are easily distractable," she said, grinning.

"I'm not going near that one," Mike replied. "Now the next guy, Chilcott, was sniped. On a hunting trip in the great outdoors. His bodyguard was American Nathan Conway. And whether he was distracted or not, there's not much a bodyguard can do about a guy with a scoped rifle several hundred yards away. So two foreign, both here legally, and no one had a criminal record."

"Speaking of criminal records," Max said, "Two of the victims had records. I checked. I was looking for some kind of link...actually I was grasping at straws, as you put it."

"What kind of criminal records?"

"Gentzler and Chilcott had both been arrested for cruelty to animals in their late teens," she said. "Gentzler doused a dog with gasoline and set it on fire."

Mike shook his head. "Jesus. That's sick".

"Tell me about it. He got community service, and had to attend counseling. Mom and Dad hired a really good lawyer. Chilcott apparently had a spat with a girlfriend, stole her dog, and fed it to a pit bull." She leaned back in her chair, and stretched her legs out. "When I was in the NYPD, we had a phrase. Public service homicide. We used it when a drug dealer got gunned down in a deal gone bad, for example. This almost might just qualify. I hate people who do stuff like that. I always have the thought that the people who commit cruelty to animals don't quite have the nerve to do this stuff to people. But they're working up to it."

"Getting back to these bodyguards," Mike said, "Jason Rickard didn't have one."

"That we know of," Max replied. That's what Marloth told us. I'm not sure I take his word at face value."

"There's nothing illegal about having a bodyguard."

"No," she said, " but it's kind of interesting that most of the victims seem to have had them, and mostly they weren't from here."

"Well the Bureau hasn't got anything on these guys, but they're not from here, as you put it. So maybe someone else knows something about them." He opened up a secure email program. " We could query Interpol and the CIA."

""Let's do that," she said.

"And after this we're getting something to eat."

VII

Late afternoon found them both tired of sitting around the office, and tired of reading. Max, especially was pensive. "How long can those queries take?" she asked . Did they all just go home for the weekend?"

"I'm pretty sure Interpol stays open on Saturday," said Mike. "They can be jammed up. I don't know about the CIA. Maybe they all just get to go home", he said.

"We might as well all go home. We're not going to catch anyone sitting around here. I bet they still haven't interviewed Leach. I was going to go for a run before went over to Gwen's, but they're calling for rain. I'll go to the gym instead. You still meeting Dennis?

"Yeah," Mike said.

"Have a good time. Try to stay out of trouble," she said, grinning.

'Uh huh. I know you worry about me, but I think you can kind of relax. So far, it looks like about the worst thing that can happen to either of us on this task force is eyestrain and carpal tunnel."

VIII

Mike walked across the parking lot at Karlino's under a slate gray, cold looking sky. The air was damp, and he could feel a bit of misty rain in the evening breeze. He could hear the music from out here. The parking lot was crowded. The place did a good business on Saturday night. He was running a few minutes late, and hoped that Dennis had already gotten them a table.

He walked in the front door, and noticed several people waiting for a table. Dennis was not among them. He walked up to the hostess, a slender, twentyish black girl with her hair done up in braids. "I'm meeting someone," he said. Dennis Fuchida. Is he here?

The girl directed him to a booth close to the bar where he found Dennis intently studying his smart phone. Seeing Mike, he put the phone back in his pocket. "There you are," he said. "Sit down. Take a load off."

"I'm glad you came out," Dennis said, as Mike sat down. ""Chelsea, my girlfriend, is in Chicago. Business trip. On Saturday, yet. She's flying in on the redeye tonight."

Karlino's was in a state of transition, management having decreed that the waitresses should wear tighter T shirts. Some of the older waitresses were clearly uncomfortable with the new uniforms. Dennis's waitress, a compact, busty brunette with freckles and a slightly crooked smile, clearly didn't have that problem. She had also clearly had waited on Dennis before. "Hi Dennis," she said. "Can I get you guys something to drink?"

"Hi Kelsey. I'll have a Newcastle."

"Seasonal Sam," Mike said.

The waitress left to get their beers.

"The Giants are playing," Mike observed.

"Yeah. I haven't been paying much attention. So how's it going?"

"It sucks, mostly," Mike said. "About all we've done so far is go over other people's paperwork. Nothing much interesting.. You?"

"Shelby put me with Jermaine. He finally came back to work yesterday. That flu he had was starting to sound like Captain Trips. And he'd had a shot, too. So...word is that you might be planning to pop the question to Max."

"You've been talking to John," Mike said.

"Yeah. Let me guess. He tried dispensing relationship advice."

" He did," Mike replied. "He advised against it.'

"He would," said Dennis. " Let me further guess. He was talking about red and blue pills. Like he was Morpheus or something."

"Yeah. I guess he's having a hard time."

"So he's become a relationship guru," Dennis said. " I got an earful of it the other day. His opinion is that he's been too nice of a guy, and that's the root of his problem."

"Are we talking about the same John?" asked Mike.

"Yeah. So anyway he was talking about frame this and game that. He's studying to be a pick up artist. PUA as they call it. I guess we'll see how that works out. But he told you not to get married, right?"

The waitress returned with their beers. "Would you like some appetizers?"

"I'm ready to order,"Mike said. "You?"

"Me too," said Dennis. "I'll have the beer battered fish. And fries."

"French dipped roast beef sandwich and I'll have fries too," Mike said.

Kelsey left with their order. "So...you gonna do it?"

"I don't know," Mike said. "I'm thinking about it."

"Thinking"

"Yeah, thinking. It's something we do before we make major decisions."

" Thinking is overrated, especially before major decisions. It leads to over thinking."

"That's a real interesting concept," Mike said.

Dennis took a sip of his beer, and held up his hright hand, index finger extended, as if lecturing. "Among the maxims on Lord Naoshige's wall," he said, " was this one. 'Matters of great concern should be treated lightly.' Master Ittei commented, 'Matters of small concern should treated seriously'".

"OK. Well, that explains everything. Did you get that from a fortune cookie?" Mike asked.

"Fortune cookies are Chinese," Dennis said. "I'm not. Those are words of wisdom from my samurai ancestors. It's actually from Hagakure."

"What's that?"

"It's a book of samurai philosophy. The point of the saying is that when it comes to matters of great concern, life, death, victory or defeat in battle, or love for that matter, you shouldn't have to think, because you should be clear in your mind to start with. You think it through before the situation comes up, or you go on instinct. This frees your mind to think carefully about the small stuff, so you get the details right. Hence, matters of small concern should treated seriously."

"So the more important it is the less I should think?"

"The more important it is, the less you should need to think," Dennis said. "Remember, for those guys, if they stopped to think too long, someone would carve them up with a sword. Another saying from the Hagakure is that warrior should be able to make a decision in the space of seven breaths."

"So," Mike said,"if you're like, samurai love doctor, why aren't you married?"

"Actually, in my case, I think when Chelsea brought me home to meet the rents, they were a little freaked that their blonde round eye daughter was seeing this Asianl dude. And I think she's got some commitment issues. I'm working on it."

"You make everything sound simple," said Mike.

"That's the point. The really important stuff always is. Max helps take care of Ryan's kid, right?"

"Yeah that's where she is right now."

"So you have a reminder right there in front of you of just how much things will change. Which is why you're thinking," Dennis said.

"So what's your advice?"

"Breathe seven times. Ask yourself how do you want to spend the rest of your life and who do you want to spend it with. Then you'll know."

VIII

Eliza waited in the parking lot of Continuity, in a light blue Ford Taurus, waiting for her target to appear. Stinnes and Kaminsky had eyes on him, and he was less than a quarter of a mile away. The purse containing the Glock was over her right shoulder. With the suppressor screwed onto the end of the barrel, there was no fitting the weapon into a holster, and the length would make it hopelessly slow to draw in any case. She was parked close to the door. The parking lot, long and narrow, was mostly full, so the target would probably have a walk, and she'd have plenty of time to head him off. Stinnes and Kaminsky would call her and let her know where the target was parking. She was dressed in jeans, warm boots that came halfway to her knees, a dark blouse, and a dark brown leather jacket. Her hair was pinned up under a black wool cap. She had her P30SK in its shoulder holster, but wouldn't need it unless something went horribly wrong. She felt a mixture of nervous excitement, and anticipation. Above all, she was elated. She was never more alive than in the moment when she took a life. It was the greatest thrill of all.

Her phone's ringtone sounded. Stinnes. 'He's pulling in now. He's headed for a space to your right."

"Got it," She said. She could see the target's white Honda Civic passing behind her in her rear view mirror. She got out of the car, and began walking towards where it was parking. Her hand was in her purse, halding the Glock, finger off the trigger.

A man with thick, curly brown hair, dressed a bit like an unmade bed, got out of the Civic, and began walking towards the front door. She quickened her pace. "Excuse me," she said to the man. "Could you help me out? I managed to lock myself out of my car, and my phone in my car. Could you call someone for me?"

The man stopped, looking at the smiling, attractive young woman before him. " Sure," he said, and began reaching into his pocket. "

"You're so kind," she said. And from a range of three yards, she brought up the Glock, and squeezed off four shots. The suppressor muffled the shots to barely a cough, with the loudest sound being the clacking noise of the gun's slide moving back and forth. All four shots hit the target, catching him three times in the chest, with the last going slightly high, striking him just below the collarbone. He went down immediately, bright red blood spreading over the front of his sweatshirt. She walked up to him, leveled the Glock at his head, and put two insurance rounds into his brain from a foot away. Then she turned and walked briskly back to her Taurus, jamming the Glock back into her purse as she did so, leaving the dead body of Gavin Leach lying in a spreading pool of blood.

IX

Mike sat in Karlino's, working on his second beer. His attention was mostly focused on the game. The Giants were getting ready to punt, their third down pass having been incomplete. Dennis was talking about an upcoming movie remake, explaining in considerable detail why it would suck. Suddenly Mike's phone rang, and he recognized the ringtone as work. "Mike Weston", he said, answering.

"Mike, it's JJ. Gavin Leach, the lead suspect in the Shiny case, has been killed. I've already called Max. You guys need to get to a place called Continuity." he read the address off, and Mike could barely make it out over the sound of the rock music blaring in the background.

"I gotta go," Mike said. "Guys night out is over. Work. Matters of great concern have come up, and in this case, they can't be treated lightly."

X

Eliza pulled into the parking lot of Torrey's Wine And Liquor, having traded the Taurus for her Porsche. Mr Hands had informed her that the burglary of Leach's apartment had gone off without a hitch. She did a quick 360 scan of the parking lot as she got out, and noticed a young man standing on the sidewalk, not far from the door. As she approached the building, he spoke to her. "Excuse me," he said. "I kinda need help."

"What kind of help do you kinda need?" she asked.

"I forgot my ID", he said.

"You mean the one that says you're underage?"

"I'm twenty-one, really. My birthday was two days ago.'

"And what year was that, exactly?" she asked, smiling.

She saw him concentrating, trying to do arithmetic in his head. She looked him up and down, appraisingly. Not bad. About six one, a little over two hundred pounds, and she guessed that very little of it was fat. Short, Sandy brown hair. Clean shaven. Well, if eliza couldn't come to the party, maybe the party could come to Eliza.

"You with anyone?" she asked.

"No"

"Go to that drugstore, three doors down, and wait for me." He stood there, uncertain.

"Turn, walk away, go to the drug store. I'll be along in a minute. And then we'll have some fun." She walked to the door, deliberately ignoring him as he asked why.

Inside, the spoke to the clerk, as she passed the register. "Kid's in a hurry to grow up," she said.

"He try the old "I forgot my ID' line?" the man behind the counter asked.

"Yeah"

She walked to the Scotch section and selected a bottle of Johnnie Walker Blue Label. She took it to the cash register and pulled out her credit card. "He leave?", she asked.

"Yeah, he headed down the street."

She paid for her purchase, got back in her car, and took out her phone. She called Fairfax International Forwarding. "It's Eliza. I'm on my way, with a package." She drove to the drug store she had indicated to the kid. Sure enough, the boy was there. The exact right combination, she reflected. Smart enough to do what he's told correctly. Dumb enough to do it in the first place. This was going to be fun. She rolled down her window. "Get in," she said. He did so, and she gunned the Porsche away from the curb. "You got a name?" she asked.

"Chris"

"I'm Eliza. It's nice to meet you, Chris. Did you call anyone?" He looked at her, stupidly.

"Did you call anyone, Chris? Because I thought we'd go to a party. But It's just going to be you and me."

"No," he said, hastily. 'I didn't call anyone. This car is fantastic"

"It's got a good sound system, too. Wanna hear it?"

"Sure."

She turned on the music. "You work out Chris? You look like you're in pretty good shape."

"Yeah. I'm on the swim team."

"Good. I like a guy with stamina. Someone who can last for a while," she said, grinning. And she turned at the next light to head for Fairfax International Forwarding.

XI

They pulled up at the crime scene, Mike at the wheel. A light drizzle was falling. Mike lifted up the yellow tape around the crime scene, while Max showed her FBI credentials to the officer standing behind it. "Where's the detective in charge?" Mike asked.

The officer pointed out an olive skinned woman. "Sergeant Quinones", he said.

They walked up to the woman. "Sergeant Quinones?" Mike said. "Agents Weston and Hardy, FBI. What happened?"

"What's the Bureau's interest here?" she asked.

"This man was a potential witness in a federal case," Max replied.

"Well apparently, the guy was a regular here. He had just pulled up , that's his car over there, and he was walking up to the door. We got two witnesses who saw a woman walk up him, pull a gun out of her handbag, and shoot him at close range. Six rounds, nine mil. Four in the chest, two in the head. The head shots were apparently point blank. Powder burns around the wounds. She wanted to be sure. No one heard any gunshots, so we think she was using a silencer."

"Anyone get a description", Max asked.

"Young woman, mid twenties, brunette, about five seven, five eight. Slender. She got in a Ford Taurus and drove off. One of the witnesses got a license number. We ran it. The plate was stolen from Long Island this morning."

"In other words, it was a professional hit," Mike said.

"Looks like," Quinones replied.

Max looked at the front door of Continuity. A poster promised a showing of Collect Call From Cthulu. "What sort of place is this?" Max asked.

" They have movies, mostly sci fi, horror, stuff like that. There's tables where they have games, as in little toy soldiers, and Dungeons and Dragons. Card games, snacks, coffee, beer...it's like geek heaven. "

Mike spotted JJ approaching. "Hey guys," JJ said. "We just got this". He handed an envelope to Mike. "Search warrant. Leach's apartment. Marchetti and Nickson are on their way here. Galen wants the two of you over at Leach's apartment. Find out what's there."

As they headed for the car Max said "I'll bet you fifty dollars and a box of donuts they never interviewed that guy."

XII

The guards waved them through the gate at Fairfax. "What kind of place is this?" Chris asked. "I thought we were going to a party"

"We are," Eliza reassured him. "I promise". She drove her Porsche through the roll up door.

Inside were three large, tough looking men. Eliza got out, as did Chris, though he looked around cautiously as he did so. "What's this?" he asked.

Eliza turned to the two men. "Take him to interrogation." She walked through the double doors at the back of the room, ignoring Chris' protests, pleas, and futile struggles

XIII

The building superintendent let them into Leach's apartment. They surveyed the living room.

Whatever you do," Mike said, "don't sit down. You don't want to stick to anything."

"Not much of a housekeeper, was he?" Max commented.

A large recliner with well worn upholstery faced a fifty four inch flat screen mounted on a cheap particle board stand. A folding table next to it held an empty bowl and a box of Cocoa Puffs. There was a leather couch patched with electrical tape that might have come from Goodwill, a yard sale, or one of Mom's hand me downs. There were dirty clothes strewn across it, and a stack of books at one end of it. There were posters on the wall ranging from Alice Cooper to Star Wars. A cabinet held what looked like a fairly expensive sound system.

In the kitchen they found a sink full of dirty dishes. The refrigerator smelled of spoiled food, and held an ample supply of beer, soda, and frozen pizza. They also the first envelope of money under the sink, behind a box of dishwashing soap, and a wastebasket. Mike riffed through it. "Looks like about ten thousand", he said.

"Keep looking," Max replied. "I bet there's more".

A laptop was sitting on a desk by the living room window. Next to it was a charger, a stack of mail, a plastic case of blank CD-ROMs, and three thumb drives.

"The Shiny worm will be on one those," said Max. "Maybe in the laptop, but more likely on one of the thumb drives."

Max found the next envelope of cash, this time lodged on a shelf behind an extensive DVD collection. There was more cash in the bedroom in the sock drawer. Much of Leach's supply of socks seemed to be strewn across the floor.

"So who do we call first?" Mike asked. "The Bureau? Or the health department?"

"It's bad, but it's not that bad," said Max thoughtfully. "I mean, you know how single guys can be."

"Be serious."

"I'm always serious," she said, grinning. "Ok, seriously, we've got about thirty five, forty thou here. If he was working for someone, then they gave him at least some front money. Now RCS was hacked Wednesday morning. It's Saturday, so whatever they owed him they've paid by now. You're a single guy, and this," she said waving her right hand at the clutter around them,"is your lifestyle. Then one day someone hands you a more money than you've ever had in your life, and what's the first thing you do on Saturday night? You head down to the same coffee shop you've been going to for months, and take in a showing of Collect Call From Cthulu. . I'm not buying it."

Mike stared at the pile of cash they had placed on the kitchen table. "Either someone paid him forty thousand dollars for services rendered, or someone paid forty thousand dollars to have him framed. But either way, forty thousand dollars. Plus whatever that hit woman cost, and she didn't come cheap. Who throws that kind of money around? Who are these people?"

"I don't know," Max replied. " When we started out, we were investigating a computer hack, and Shelby thought it might be some kind of Russian spy caper. Then Galen claimed the case for the task force, which is supposed to be about some kind of terrorism. Whatever this is, it's not a government, and it's not terrorists. It's something we've never seen before. Maybe something no one has ever seen before."

"What I said earlier," said Mike, "about eye strain and carpal tunnel, I take it back. We're gonna have to be careful."

XIV

Eliza walked into the interrogation room. She had changed into blue surgical scrubs, and was carrying a canvas bundle under her arm. In the center of the room, beneath a bank of surgical lights, was a long stainless steel table, fitted with straps. On it lay Chris, in his undershorts, strapped down tight, his head held in a kind if steel vise that kept him from turning it, a rubber bit forced into his mouth and held in place with straps. He was naked, conscious, and clearly terrified.

Eliza placed the canvas roll on the stainless steel surgical stand by the table, and began to unroll it. In side was an array of gleaming surgical instruments.

"This," she said, in an easy, conversational tone, 'Is a place where the Organization brings people when they won't talk. Of course in your case, you don't know anything. This isn't an interrogation. I said we'd party. Well, this is what I do for...relaxation."

"I"m not a doctor. I once studied under a very brilliant doctor, and he taught me a great deal. But I didn't go into medicine." She ran her fingers lightly over Chris' chest. "Mmmm. You are in good shape. I like that. As I said, I like a man who can last a while. I think I can make you last a long time."

Musical Interlude: Scary Voodoo Girl by Deadbolt

From Eliza's car: Kisses Taste Like Death by The Dreaming

* The P30 is type of 9mm pistol, made in Germany by Heckler & Koch. Jack Bauer carried a P30 in one the iterations of 24. The P30SK is a smaller version of the P30 meant to be easily concealable. The SK stands for subcompact in German. H & K products command a premium price. CTU' apparently could afford H & K's prices, and so can The Organization. I can't.

** Untraceable

For the record, Johnnie Walker Blue Label was $250 a bottle the last time I saw one in the liquor store. I'm told it's better than their Black Label (Which I've had), but the difference doesn't justify the price. Or so I've heard. At $20 an ounce, I won't be putting that claim to the test any time soon.

21


	7. Chapter 7 - Game On

Disclaimer: It's fanfic, meaning I don't own anything or make any money off of it. It's a labor of love. Please don't sue me.

This chapter is rated T. Apart from some language, I don't think there's much in this chapter that wouldn't pass muster on an episode of The Following. If you're old enough to watch The Following, you're old enough to read this.

Chapter 7 - Game On

Max looked out the window of Gavin Leach's apartment and saw two cars in the parking lot below disgorging agents. "They're here," she said in a tone of voice that mimicked the line from Poltergeist. Mike walked over to the window to join her. "Galen's decided to come out and join us," she said.

"Yeah," Mike said, "it's real important to be seen taking charge. Especially after everything has gone to hell in a bucket"

A few minutes later, Miles Galen walked into the apartment, with Andre and Dani close behind and JJ bringing up the rear. "What have we got?" he asked.

"A laptop," Mike replied."Some flash drives. Lots and lots of cash."

" So he was the guy," said Galen.

"We don't know that," Mike said. "This stuff could have been planted. It doesn't look like he was spending a lot of money on himself."

"So maybe he didn't have to time to upgrade his lifestyle," Galen said. "The real question now is how did they know we were on to him?"

"Because they put us on to him," Max replied. "This is all smoke and mirrors".

"He made threatening statements about the company online," said Galen.

"You don't think these people can hack a Facebook page?" she asked, with evident irritation.

"I don't see any evidence that they did," Galen said. "It was an inside job, and they silenced him as soon as we got on to him."

"OK," Max said, her voice rising. "So they did it. They are behind it all. So who are they?" She put strong emphasis on each repetition of the word "They". "And why was it worth so much money to hack this company in the first place? You're taking everything at face value. Whoever they are, they are leading us around by the nose. They picked this guy out at random, they framed him and then they killed him. And I'm sure that they have dotted every I and crossed every T."

Galen turned his head in her direction and looked at her balefully for a few seconds before responding. "If anyone is leading us around by the nose, " he said, "it's because we have some sort of leak. "

"Great," she said. "So now we start a molehunt and do their work for them."

"We certainly need to look at everyone who knew that Gavin Leach was a person of interest, Agent Hardy. Including you."

"Now wait a minute," Mike said, stepping forward.

"Guys!" JJ interrupted. "Enough! Before paranoia strikes any deeper, we need to bag and tag this stuff. "

After a moment of poisonous silence, Galen said ""Right. Let's get this locked away as evidence. Tomorrow Marchetti and Nickson can start going through these thumb drives and the laptop."

"I'm pretty good with computers," said Max.

"I'm sure," Galen replied. "That would be really useful. If you were on the case."

II

Later, with the cash, laptop, and thumb drives loaded up into Galen's car, they headed out into the night, Mike at the wheel. They returned their Bureau car to the parking deck, and Mike started towards his car, looking forward to the end of a long day. He stopped when he noticed Max heading toward the door to the main building. "Where are you going?" he asked.

"I want to check our email. Maybe the CIA finally answered."

Mike looked at his watch. "It's after ten o'clock".

"This won't take long."

He followed after her. "I know this case has got the hooks in you. And I know that Galen was a dick..."

"Yes," she interrupted. "He was."

"How can you be so sure Leach was framed?" Mike asked.

"I'm not," she said, keeping up a brisk pace as she talked. "But I'm sure of one thing. If I knew that Gavin Leach was a person of interest, it's because Galen told me. In front of a witness."

In their office, Mike opened up the secure email program and hit send/receive. "OK," he said. "Looks like our friends at Langley came through. And Interpol. So...nothing on the European guys, but get this. Nathan Conway, who was bodyguarding that guy who was sniped...was fired by the CIA."

Max leaned over his shoulder and peered a the screen.

"He was ex military," Mike continued. "When he got out he went to work for a private military contractor called ZR Security Ops. He guarded some Agency black sites and some VIPs in Afghanistan. Seems that back in 2010 he was guarding a VIP who was being motored around Kabul. The convoy got ambushed on Maiwand road. The ZR guys opened up and shot anything that moved. Killed forty odd civilians, and apparently no Taliban. They called it the Maiwand Massacre. Conway was charged with murder by the Afghan government, and Interpol had a warrant out on him for a while. The charges got dropped somehow, but the CIA came down hard and said that he couldn't work any more Agency contracts. He got fired."

Max stared intently at the monitor. "Do you remember when we were on our way to RCS that first day? I told you that one of the companies hit with the Shiny worm provided security for VIPs, ambassadors, things like that? Well...boom"

"OK that's it for tonight," Mike said. "I've had it, and so have you. Did you even get dinner tonight?"

"Gwen left some stuff"

Mike closed the email program and logged off the computer. "Come on," he said, rising from his chair. "Our day started at 6:00. This will be here tomorrow. We're going home. If I have to drag you off to bed I will."

"Is that a promise?" she asked, smiling.

III

Mister Hands normally prepared his own breakfast, but no other meal. But here h e was pulling into a cafe early on a cold morning. This place was open 24 hours, and at this hour on Sunday morning wasn't busy. He walked in and looked around. A few city workers in bright green vests. A couple of men from the gas company. The radio station was playing a David Allen Coe cover of Take This Job And Shove It. He saw Zack Coleman sitting in a booth near the window on the opposite side, drinking coffee, and reading a news paper. He walked over and slid into the booth opposite Coleman.

"So how did it go last night?" Coleman asked.

"How do you think? He's dead Jim."

Coleman sat in silence, looking uncomfortable. "Feeling a bit like Judas?" Hands asked.

"No," Coleman said. "It's just..." he let the thought trail off.

"Just what? That you never picked anyone out to be killed before? It's for the greater whatever. He died that the Organization might live. We get paid to do this shit."

"Did you do it?" Coleman asked.

"No, she did. And it's best if you don't ask about things you don't need to know. So let me come to the point. We're pretty deep into the FBI's computer systems, right?"

"Yeah."

"So can you get me a copy of a case file?" Hands asked, " Without telling the Head Bitch?"

"I guess," Colman said cautiously. "We have a lot of access. What's this about?"

"The Shiny case," Hands said. "I want to see the file."

"Why?"

"I want to see what Max Hardy found out about it."

Coleman took a cautious sip of his coffee. ""Didn't they take her off the case?"

"They did," said Hands. "They ordered her to drop it. That doesn't mean she has. Ryan Hardy used to do some unauthorized investigating back in the days. Well, maybe there's something to this genetics stuff after all. Maybe unauthorized and hell bent runs in the family."

Coleman gazed out the window, fogged over with condensation in the morning cold. "If she's holding out on the Bureau, then whatever you're looking for won't be in the file."

"I know that. But I have to start somewhere. I want to get an idea of what she found before they told her to cease and desist. I talked to Adrian about Shiny. I'm pretty sure he lied his ass off. But I think now he told me more than he realized. I have a theory. If I'm right, then things are worse than I thought."

"So what's your theory?" Coleman asked.

"Better that you not know," Hands replied. "I'll tell you something. Eliza's smart. Maybe too smart for her own good. Because of that she underestimates people. Me, for one. And she underestimated Ryan Hardy. And maybe, just maybe, she's underestimating his niece. Get me a copy of that file. Hard copy, please. None of this uploading and downloading shit. The world went digital. And I'm still analog."

The waitress appeared. , and poured Hands a cup of coffee. "Scrambled eggs and hash browns," he said.

Once she was safely out of earshot, Coleman smiled and said "You know it occurs to me that you and Eliza seem like an odd couple."

Hands snorted in derision. "Couple? We're strictly business. It's a working relationship. Dysfunctional working relationship. Me, I'm a professional. And I'm working for this twisty little wannabe supervillain Don't get me wrong, we respect each other. But we're basically incompatible, and we just don't get along."

"Sounds like you've got the hots for her."

Hands contemplated Coleman for a moment through narrowed eyes, then leaned back in his seat and smiled. "The blue coral snake,", he said, "which is native to Indonesia, is a very beautiful snake. Really, it's one of the most beautiful snakes on the planet.. But it's still a fuckin' snake, and venomous as hell. I might admire its beauty, but I would definitely shoot it on sight. Unless, of course, I was getting paid really well not to."

IV

Max came awake and found herself lying on her side looking at the night stand and the closet door beyond it. She could sense Mike lying next to her and hear his slow, even breathing. He was still asleep, as she should be. What had awakened her? She felt on edge. Had she been dreaming?

The events of the previous day began to replay themselves in her mind. Her meeting with Dennis. Galen's refusal to put her on the Shiny case. Having to call Gwen, and tell her that she would have to cancel her plans for the evening because the Bureau had called. Her argument with Galen. So what had happened over the last couple of days, really?

Galen had claimed the shiny case for the task force., even though it had nothing in common with any other Terudom case. He had given it to someone else, even though she had worked the case and was familiar with it.. Galen had informed her that there was a person of interest. In front of a witness. Well, she had asked. But then, wasn't that to be expected? The suspect was ambushed in a parking lot. Galen now suspected a leak. Well, he'd have to, wouldn't he?

Worst case. Assume there's a mole. What does a mole do? He covers his tracks by making sure there's an alternative explanation for any leak. If Galen were a mole, he'd do exactly what he's doing.

It cut both ways. She had no alibi for when Gavin Leach was killed. So someone could claim that if she were a mole, she'd do exactly what she was doing. Did someone know she would be keeping Ryan Junior that night? How? Who had she told? She'd told Dennis. But she could trust him, surely. Dennis, who'd had her back those long months when Mike was recuperating, who could quote everything from samurai philosophy to long movie monologues from memory, whose jokes and good humor had brightened so many dark days, surely she could trust him. Or could she?

She had talked to Gwen, over the phone. Was her phone tapped?

So what to do? For the moment, she had no hard evidence against anyone, and no proof that a mole even existed. But if one did, was she at risk? What about Mike? What about Gwen?

 _Oh Jesus. Gwen. And Ryan Junior._ The thought of it froze her heart.

God, she was tired. She wanted to go back to sleep, but couldn't. Maybe the double shot of Jack Daniel's she had drunk before turning in, to Mike's disapproving look, was catching up with her.

Mike's alarm sounded. She felt him rise from the bed, but made no move to get up herself. She heard him moving around, and then felt his hand on her shoulder. "Come on," he said. "Wakey. Up and at 'em". Reluctantly, she sat up on the edge of the bed . Mike leaned down for a good morning kiss.

"Do the bad guys get days off?" she asked.

"They do," he replied. "But they've got us outnumbered, and they run in shifts."

VI

They sat in the computer room in the Batcave, Mike studying the monitor, and Max nursing a cup of coffee. "So ZR was hit with this worm," Mike said. " Did you go to their offices yourself?"

"No," Max replied. "Their corporate office is in southern Virginia. A team from the Richmond field office went out, and they set up a remote hookup, which is how I looked at their system. I spoke to the company's operations manager by phone. A guy named Myers."

"But he doesn't own the company."

"No. The company was founded by a man named Peter Getman. He was all over the news at one time. Especially after that shootout in Afghanistan. ZR was all over the news, too. I think someone even wrote a book about it. Come to think of it, the ownership changed after Getman disappeared."

"Disappeared?" Mikes asked.

"Yeah, three years ago. At the time, people were wondering if maybe some terrorist group had got him. ZR operated all over the Middle East, mostly working for us, and their operators racked up quite a body count in Iraq, Afghanistan, and some other places nobody even read about at the time. I think the Bureau even investigated the disappearance, but nothing ever turned up. I don't think he's been officially declared dead."

Mike began tapping keys. "Normally with no body it takes seven years, unless a preponderance of..." he let the thought trail off. Crap, he thought. No need to go through the stuff about missing declared dead. She knows. "You OK?", he asked.

"Yeah. I was just thinking about Gwen. I hate I had to ruin her evening. She had to rush home so I could leave."

"Uh huh.," Mike said. "I'm sure she understood. She knows what we do for a living. I'm thinking about Max. I think maybe she should get a little down time."

"They've got us outnumbered, remember? And they run in shifts."

"Yeah, but between bad guys and babysitting you might be spread a little thin, there." OK, better he thought. That got a smile out of her.

"Just a second," he said. "OK, I spoke too soon. Turns out he was declared dead a couple of years ago. "Here's his obituary. Mr Peter Getman, born Pyotr Getman in the Ukraine in 1957, father escaped to the West when he was eight. Americanized his name to Peter, and married an American woman. Served in the US Army, rose to the rank of Colonel. Founder of ZR Security Ops, a controversial private military contractor that was accused of war crimes in the Middle East and elsewhere, and which operated all over the world...Mr Getman was also accused by Pentagon critics of securing lucrative contracts through political favoritism...court declared him dead after being missing for a year... he was believed to be murdered by terrorists...Mr Getman's wife died in 2007 of cancer...he is survived...Jesus. He is survived by his daughter. Eliza."

Max shot bolt upright, as though the chair beneath her was wired for electricity. "Is there a picture?" she asked.

Mike did a brief search that ended at a Facebook page. "There," he said, pointing at a picture of an attractive brunette. "That's her."

Max stood, and peered over his shoulder at the young woman on the monitor, a look of astonishment on her face. "I met her," she said. "We met her. I was with Ryan."

"When?"

"Right after you were stabbed. We were looking for Theo. There was a glitch in a video feed. Ryan thought it might be important. Like maybe it had been hacked. So we went to the area, it was on the Upper East Side, and we started knocking on doors. We met her coming out of a penthouse. But she told us her name was Annie Bouchard. And she said the penthouse belonged

to a guy who ran a hedge fund. Is there an address?"

"Upper East Side," Mike said. He looked at Max. She seemed almost transformed. The fatigue had fallen away and her once bleary eyes were lit with excitement.

"You wanna go off the reservation some more?" she asked.

"Oh hell yeah."

They logged off and headed down the hall to the exit. As Mike was opening the door to the Batcave, JJ emerged from the storeroom carrying a package of printer paper. "Where are you guys headed?" he asked.

"Lunch," Max replied, and then she turned and walked out.

JJ stood for a moment, staring at the door as it closed behind them. "Lunch? Jesus Christ," he said to no one in particular, "it's nine thirty."

VII

Eliza sat on her living room couch, a cup of coffee, her second of the morning, on the lamp table next her. A volume of Proust was open on her lap, but she found it hard to focus on it. It was a lazy Sunday morning, and she had slept late. Over breakfast, she had kept thinking back to the night before, and Chris. He had lasted for hours. She had loved his face as she had worked on him. She had loved his looks of shock, horror, panic, hysteria, pleading, and finally despair as she worked on him. It wasn't his screams, it was his face, and above all his eyes. He had suffered beautifully, and she would be replaying every moment of it in her head for weeks to come.

How had Proust put it? "No exile at the South Pole or at the summit of Mont Blanc separates us more effectively from others than the practice of a hidden vice." The man was more right than he could possibly have known. She would always be separated from others by the knowledge that she could take their lives when and how she chose. They were there to fill her life with energy. You never, she reflected, look at another person the same way after you've killed one for pleasure.

She tried to focus on her book, but couldn't. She considered going back to bed. She felt deliciously sleepy. She finished off her coffee, now lukewarm, and gazed out the sliding glass door to the deck beyond. The view was magnificent, although at the moment it was much too cold to enjoy it outdoors. In the summertime, she practically lived out there.

She heard the doorbell, and wondered irritably who it could be. She considered just letting it ring, but decided to go look. She peered out through the peephole...and her heart nearly stopped. Mike Weston. And Max Hardy. Oh God.

What had happened? How had they tracked her? Had someone seen something last night. Had Chris called someone from the drug store? Had someone seen her at the coffee house? No. They weren't here to arrest her, or they would have brought more agents. They were here to ask questions. Should she call her attorney? Refuse to answer? No. That would make her look guilty. She could bluff it out. She had done it before, and not just that long ago day with Ryan Hardy and his bitch of a niece.

As a precaution, she went to the storage room near the entrance, and got her P30SK. She took it to the living room, and placed it under a throw pillow at the end of the U shaped couch she had been sitting on. She left her book on the couch, and threw a copy of The New York Times down next to it. When Weston and Hardy came in, she would offer them seats on the couch. They wouldn't sit where the book and magazine were, so she could resume her seat by the lamp table. They would then be seated across the couch from her, as it was U shaped, and if the worst came to the worst, she'd have a clear shot.

VIII

"Maybe she isn't home," Mike said.

"Try one more time," Max replied.

The door opened, and Eliza, looking a bit flustered, stood before them. 'Remember me?" said Max.

"Yes, you're Ryan hardy's niece, aren't you?"

"Max Hardy, FBI," she said, shower her credentials. 'And this is Mike Weston. May we come in?"

"Yes, please"

Max stepped inside, looking around as she did so. To her right was a closet, to her left a toilet. Past them the entryway angled left to a living room with a large white U shaped couch acing a wall TV. To the right of that a sliding glass door led to a deck. To the left, she cold see a long dining room table, and a bar with four stools. A large double door led to what max guessed was the master bedroom.

"Would you like to sit down?" Eliza asked indicating the couch.

"No thank you," said Max. "We're here on business."

"Do you mind if I sit?"

"Of course not," Max replied. She glanced at Mike, and nodded he head toward the large screen TV mounted on the wall. Mike walked over and took a position leaning casually on the wall next to it. Max walked around to the end of the cough opposite Eliza, but remained standing behind it. She stood with her arms folded over her chest. She kept her eyes on Eliza's hands. Watch their hands, Jim Woloszyn had told her long ago. Because hands kill. She noticed Eliza's right hand inching closer to the throw pillow on the couch. Max shifted her own right hand a bit, to be closer to the Glock 19 under her left arm. She and Eliza looked directly at each other, making eye contact, and for a moment, Max thought she saw something. Anger. Anxiety. And something else. A cornered animal, perhaps. Or a predator sizing up it's prey.

"So, " Max began, "Ms Getman. Why did you lie to us about who you were and where you lived?"

"I was in a very difficult position," Eliza said. "I was having an affair with a married man. Someone very prominently placed. Someone whose career and prospects could have been damaged. I was expecting him to arrive soon, and I was afraid of what would happen if he showed up while the FBI was here. He had political enemies. Our affair could have become public knowledge."

"What was his name?" Max asked.

"I can't tell you that."

"Then how do I know you're telling the truth?"

"Please believe me, I am telling the truth. I am. But even if I gave you his name, he'd just deny it. Look, I cooperated with you in every way. I let you into my penthouse. I didn't have to do that. I let you in voluntarily, you didn't have a search warrant. I let you see everything you wanted to see. I asked for Ryan Hardy's card in case I saw Theo, and I would have called if I'd seen anything. Is that why you're here? Because I lied to you months ago about something trivial?"

"How did you know I was Ryan Hardy's niece? We were never introduced."

"I read a lot about him. About Havenport. About Lily Gray and Joe Carroll. I'm fascinated by that sort of thing. He was a remarkable man. And I admired him. Also, I saw you on TV, after his death. I'm so sorry for your loss."

"Thank you," Max replied. "He was a remarkable man."

"I would have shown my identification if you has asked for it. But you didn't, and I just didn't think it was that big of a deal."

Max glanced at Mike. "Did you know Jason Rickard?" Mike asked.

"Yes," Eliza said. "I did know him."

"Tell us about your relationship," Mike said.

"I tried to sell him a package. Corporate and personal security."

"He could have used that," Mike said. "Did you know he was killed?"

"Yes"

"So your relationship was strictly business? Mike continued.

Eliza looked from Mike to Max, and back again, as though trying to decide who might be more sympathetic. "No," she said. "It began as business, but it became personal."

"As in you were involved personal?" Max asked.

"Yes"

"Were you involved with him at the time he was killed?", she asked.

"No," Eliza said.

"When was he killed?" she asked.

Eliza paused for a moment, her mouth open. "I don't know," Eliza said miserably. "We broke up weeks ago."

"Were you ever in his house?" Max asked.

"Yes"

"He had what looked like a prison cell in his basement," Mike said. "Would you happen to know anything about that?"

"I didn't spend time in his basement," she said, sarcastically.

"So this relationship ended weeks ago?" asked Max. "Why did it end?"

"I wanted a more serious relationship. As in committed. He didn't. I loved him. But he..." She looked at Max. "Have you ever had the experience of loving someone, and finding out that they aren't who you thought they were? It wasn't working out. We had no long term future. Why do you have to keep asking about something like this?"

"Because he's dead," said Max, raising her voice. "Where were you about 2:00am Wednesday morning?"

"Here. In bed."

"Alone?", asked Max. "No important highly placed married men? No business associates? No hedge fund managers?"

"Alone", Eliza said, her eyes spitting fire.

"Let's talk about something else," Max said. Did you know Nathan Conway?"

"Not personally," she said, seemingly relieved to be changing the subject. "He worked for ZR . We fired him."

"He was working as a bodyguard for man named Bernard Chilcott. Did you arrange that job for him?"

"No. I didn't arrange any jobs for him. I fired him."

"Did you know Bernard Chilcott?" Mike asked.

"No".

"Lawrence Gentzler?" He asked. "Jill Mallory? Clark Chandler?"

"No", she said icily.

"Did you sell any of them corporate security packages?" Max asked.

" I have clients all over the world. I don't know them all by name. If you're going to ask me questions like this, then I need to have access to my records. And an attorney, for that matter."

Max looked over at Mike. Eliza was focused on her. Mike shook his head slightly. She understood, and agreed. _Enough. We don't want her to lawyer up._ "Thank you, ma'am," she said. "That will be all for now"

IX

They were on their way back to the office, Mike driving. "You said when you and Ryan were there, that she was coming out of that penthouse, right?"

"Right," Max replied.

"So maybe she was on her way to meet her very important married guy, but if that's the case, if she was on her way to some place else to meet him, then why lie about living there?" Mike asked. " Why lie at all?"

"Because she was startled to see us," Max said. "She wasn't expecting to see the FBI at her door, and she had something to hide. What, I don't know. But she lied to us that day, and she knows she's busted on that. So maybe whatever she was lying about, she covers it up with another lie."

"We were there looking for Theo. He wasn't there, we checked. And she's right that she did let us in. But the story about Mister hedge fund was a lie, and I think the story about the well connected boyfriend is a lie, too. "

"I don't know what she was covering up that day," Mike said. "But I don't see how it could tie in to Jason Rickard's death or Mr Shiny."

"Neither do I," Max replied. 'So it must tie into something else..." She let the thought trail off.

"What?" Mike asked.

"Nothing," she said. "Just thinking out loud. We need to get back." _Because there's something I need to check. And I'm not ready to talk about it yet._ "I think I'm going to read up on her when we get back."

X

Eliza paced up and down in her living room, phone in hand. "You are absolutely useless. Do you have any idea what happens to people we deem useless? Mike Weston and Max Hardy were just here! At my penthouse! I wanted that bitch taken off the case! I wanted her kept well away from this!...Well obviously she wasn't paying much attention to you!...No, I don't want them suspended! I need them out there for the moment, just not knocking at my door!...No, I have no idea how they found me. Can you control those two or not?...Threaten them both with suspension. Read the riot act. Do. Something. And do it soon."

XI

They sat side by side at separate terminals in the computer room. Mike was researching ZR and its history, and reading about the disappearance of its founder. Max sat with her monitor angled slightly away from Mike. She was calling up a case file from ten months ago, when she and Ryan had been searching for Theo.

"Her dad disappeared on a fishing trip off the Virginia coast," Mike said. "Chesapeake Bay. He had a boat. Sometimes he stayed on it when he was on vacation. Apparently he disappeared while the boat was tied up at the dock. It happened after 11:30pm, because that's the last time anyone saw him. Anything interesting on her?"

"Lots. She lived all over the world, with her father being in the service. She speaks Russian, French, Arabic..." She had gotten that earlier, and continued studying the file on Theo. She closed the file, having found what she'd been looking for. "Excuse me," she said. She logged off and headed to the ladies' room.

She returned a few minutes later. "I'm not feeling to well," she said. "I'm a little nauseous. And I'm really tired. I think I'm gonna take half a day. I want to lie down for a while"

"You want me to come home with you?" he asked.

"No, it's OK. I'm just going to sleep for a while."

He stood, and put his arms around her. "I'll come home a little early."

"You don't have to do that"

"Yeah, I do. I'll call first, and see if you want me to bring you anything. Silence your phone if you're going to sleep." They kissed, and then Max turned and headed for the door.

 _Time to go shopping._

XII

Max went home, but did not sleep and did not stay. She went into a closet and found a set of lock picks that had belonged to Ryan. She had never expected to need them. She had found them among his belongings after he was gone. She certainly didn't approve of him having them or using them, and had kept them only for sentimental reasons. However much she disapproved of them, they were a link to him. She also found something else that had belonged to Ryan, a folding knife with a black oxide blade, four and a half inches long, curved like a fileting knife. It wasn't legal. Neither were the lock picks.

She dropped them both into her coat pocket.

Next, she dug out Smith & Wesson airweight that she had carried as a backup piece when she was in the NYPD.* It was a five shot snubnose with a matte black finish. She found a box of hollow points and loaded it, then dropped it in her pocket along with a speed strip and the rest of the box of hollow points.

Her next stop was the hardware store.

XIII

Max walked down the sidewalk, being pelted constantly by the cold afternoon rain, and occasionally by spray thrown up by passing cars. She had left her car parked in a deck, and chosen to walk the rest of the way to her destination. On foot, she could better check for surveillance. She had dressed warmly, in a raincoat, rain boots, neck warmer, and a wool cap. She could not use an umbrella. She needed one hand for the black nylon bag she was carrying. She might need the other for her gun.

She could see her breath, and feel the rain on her face. Despite her warm clothes, she felt chilled to the bone. She had lied to Mike, and told him that she felt sick on her stomach. She wondered if she would have pneumonia by the time she got home.

In the parking deck, she had opened the trunk of her car, and checked the contents of the two bags inside. They held the day's purchases, although a few items were still missing from the bag she would leave in the car. Those would be added later. But the bag in her hand had to be ready today. And it had to be delivered undetected.

Ahead, she could see a Ford Explorer, it's motor running, parked in a lot bordered by a supermarket, a nail salon, a Greek restaurant, and a McDonald's She made one final check behind her. It looked like she was clean. She walked up to the passenger side of the Explorer, opened the front door, and got in.

Behind the wheel was Jim Woloszyn, drinking a cup of coffee. "Hi Max," he said. "God, you look like a drowned rat."

"I feel like one. Thanks for coming out on such short notice."

"So what's up?"

"I may be in a lot of trouble. And I need help. Before you say yes, I have to tell you that this could get rough. I'm on a task force. What we do is classified. I'm up against some serious people, and I think they may have put someone inside the Bureau. Do not, repeat do not, tell anyone I told you that. I'm worried that they may come for the people I love. There's an envelope inside this bag. In it is contact information for a woman. A woman with a baby. She was in love with my uncle. It's his son. Jesus, he never even saw his own son. I've got some burner phones. If I call you, and tell you that I'm from Singleton Security, and you've been chosen to receive a free home security system, it means that these people are in danger. And I don't even know who I can trust anymore. I need someone to get to them, and get them moved. Fast. I have no right to ask you to do this. But I don't know who to turn to."

"Who are they?" Jim asked. "Are we talking wiseguys, drug cartels, terrorists...'

"I don't know. That's the worst part. I realize that you can't take these people in, or guard them, or put them up long term. If they come for me, if they come for my family, all I can ask is that you buy me some time. A couple of days. Buy me forty eight hours. Give me time to arrange something more permanent, and give me a shot at taking them down."

"What's in the bag?" he asked.

"Diapers. Baby formula. Wet wipes." Seeing Jim's surprise, she said "What were you expecting, Krugerrands? She has a baby. She's gonna need this stuff."

Jim laughed, reached out, and put his hand on hers, still clutching the bag. "I haven't forgotten, you know. What was it, a dozen stitches you had when that crackhead came at me from behind with that broken bottle? Of course I'll do it."

"Thank you," she said. She leaned over, and put her arm around him. "I have to go. I don't have much time."

She got out of the Explorer, and walked off into the rain, which was starting to pick up.

XIV

"So let me get this straight.," Hands said. You lied to the FBI about something checkable?"

"I didn't know why they were here!" Eliza said angrily. They were in the living room of her penthouse. Hands was sitting on the couch, Eliza was pacing a hole in the carpet.

"The hell you didn't," Hands replied. "They were looking for Theo, and you'd been in contact. But then Theo wasn't there, was he? Or maybe you were worried that upper management might find out you two had been in touch. Your off the books fangirl Hardy hunt. Oh what a tangled web we weave..."

She turned on him, fury in her eyes."Mouth off one more time, and you'll be amazed what I can do off the books."

"OK, so you didn't call me over to enjoy my rapier like wit. Why did you call me?"

"I want to make sure we have everything in place and that we're ready to move, because we may have to move sooner than planned."

"We," he said, putting a strong emphasis on the word, "have been ready. We are always ready. But the fact that they tracked you to your lair, and God would I love to have seen the look on your face, is no cause for panic."

"I am not panicked.."

"Well, you're highly agitato, and there's no cause for that either. Chill. I've been skeptical of this contingency plan of yours, but if you're going to do it, then at least do it right. Our people on the inside will give Weston and Hardy the wave off. Let things play out."

"That's easy for you to say. I have to consider..."

But whatever it was Eliza had to consider remained unsaid, because the doorbell rang. "Excuse me," she said irritably.

She went to the door, looked out the peephole, and returned with a look of astonishment. "Max Hardy," she said. "Wait in the guest bedroom. No noise."

Max stood in front of the door, wondering why she had come here without telling Mike _._ Partly, she told herself, because he wouldn't approve. And his reasons, she reflected sourly, might be good ones. . And partly because, looking back on an earlier talk she'd had with Mike, he wouldn't believe her.

And maybe he'd be right not to.

The door opened, and Eliza stood before her. OK, she thought. I'm committed now. "May I come in?" she asked.

"Please do," Eliza said. As Max stepped into the entryway, she said "Would you like some coffee?"

"No thank you," Max replied. "This will only take a few minutes." Eliza motioned towards the living room. And Max followed her. "More questions?" Eliza asked. "And where is Mister Weston?"

"Mister Weston is back at the office. Ms Getman..."

"Eliza," she interrupted. "Call me Eliza."

"Alright," Max said. "Eliza. And I'm Max."

"Nice to meet you, Max. So, you have some more questions?"

"No. No more questions. I wanted to have a talk. Just the two of us."

"OK," said Eliza. "You start."

"So we understand each other," Max said, "I can't prove anything I'm about to say. If I could, I'd be here with HRT. When Ryan and I came here that day, it was because of a glitch in a video feed. Ryan thought that Theo might have hacked the video cameras. We searched the area, including this penthouse, and of course we didn't find him. But that glitch in the video feed was never explained."

"Maybe it was just a glitch," Eliza said.

"Maybe. But I saw that same glitch later on a video feed that Theo did hack when he was trying to cover his tracks. So maybe the feed here was hacked. I don't believe a word you said to us this morning about your married boyfriend. You lied then, and you're lying now. So maybe that puts Theo in close proximity to your penthouse. But of course there's no proof."

"No," Eliza said, smiling. "There isn't"

"Later," Max continued, "Theo took Ryan prisoner. He escaped, and I killed a man who was taking aim at Ryan with an AR. Ryan said he worked for Theo. I never questioned it at the time. Later...he was different somehow. That evening, he told me that he was going to be a father. Only he wasn't happy about it. He talked about how there would be no end to the violence, the craziness...I thought he was talking about Theo. Only now, I'm not so sure."

"You said your uncle had been a prisoner of Theo," Eliza said. "I can easily see how that would upset someone."

" After it was all over, I was a wreck. Ryan was gone. Mike was hanging on by his fingernails. So I wasn't involved much in the cleanup afterwards. But after our talk this morning, I got curious about the man I killed that day. He had no ID on him. Which is kind of unusual in itself. So they had to run fingerprints. Turns out that he was ex United States Army, military police. BCD because he couldn't keep his hands off lower ranking female troops, and he had a beef for sexual assault after he was thrown out of the Army. So he was pretty much unemployable. And that weapon...it was fitted with a selector switch. Three round burst, which made it all kinds of illegal. The serial number traced to a batch that went overseas to equip the Iraqi army. Now Theo knew a lot of people. But when I saw that this morning, it occurred to me that here you are, running Armies R Us, and you probably have a list of every hired gun and dirtbag contractor on the planet. That might just put one of your guys standing next to Theo. But of course, there's no proof."

"No," Eliza said. "There isn't. For this to be true, it would mean that Ryan lied to you. Why would he do that?"

"I've been asking myself that question. Maybe he thought he was protecting me from something."

"Max, have you thought this through? I mean, all the way through? You believe I'm running a conspiracy so vast. . That I command armies of ruthless hired killers who will do anything I say. That I'm a threat so lethal that Ryan hid my very existence from you. And yet you walked in here alone, with no backup, and I think without even leaving a forwarding address. Isn't that kind of rash? I think you're obsessed. I think you've become as reckless and dangerous as your uncle Ryan."

Max glared at the smiling woman before her. "Uncle Ryan is the reckless one in the family," she snarled. " But if you're looking for dangerous, I'm a chip off the old block."

"Is? You speak of him in the present tense. Do you know something I don't?"

"They never found a body."

"No," Eliza said. "They didn't. In all those rocks and currents, they never found any bodies at all. It must have been very hard for you, not having his body to bury. And I suppose it must be very unpleasant to imagine someone you love in their last moments of life, in pain and despair, knowing that this is the end, and that nothing can save them."

In the poisonous silence that followed, Max and Eliza regarded each other, Eliza with a kind of smug satisfaction, and Max with barely controlled fury. "So what are you going to do now, Max?" Eliza asked. "Go back to the Bureau and tell them that you see dead people?"

"I'm going to find you out. I'm going to find out how you figure in Jason Rickard's death. I'm going to find out how you were connected to Theo, and what you did to my uncle. I'm going to find out who you're working with, and who you're working for. And then I'm coming back, with HRT, and a whole stack of warrants. And I'm coming for every last one of you. See you around, Eliza."

"I'm looking forward to it, Max."

Max walked back to the entryway. As she did, she kept her head turned so as to keep eyes on Eliza. Then she backed out the penthouse door, and was gone.

Hands returned from the guest bedroom to find Eliza with a feral grin on her face. "Well?" he asked

"Game on," she said. "This is going to be fun."

XV

Mike came home early, as promised. He had tried calling several times, but had gotten no answer. Max, he decided, was probably asleep. So he opened the front door quietly, and slipped in. He put away his heavy jacket and gun, and made his way across the thick carpet to the bedroom. He peered inside, and saw Max lying on her side, her back to him. She seemed to be asleep, but as he turned to steal out, he heard her voice. "Is that you?"

"Yeah. Sorry I woke you."

"I've been awake. I took a shower. I've just been taking it easy. I feel a lot better now. I really do."

"Good," he said, and sat down on the edge of the bed.

"Is it still raining?" she asked.

"Off and on. You sure you're Ok?"

"Oh yeah. I can even prove it. You said something last night about dragging me to bed. Well, I'm there already. No dragging required."

Musical Interlude: Snakes by Concrete Blonde

From the café - Take This Job And Shove It by David Allen Coe

* Max Hardy was never seen to carry a backup gun, but she was in the NYPD where the practice has been quite common. It dates from a time when police officers were armed with revolvers, and it was faster to draw a backup gun than to reload a revolver that had gone dry. Backup guns have been so widespread among NYPD officers that carrying one has come to be known universally as a New York reload.

Hi gang. Absolute Elsewhere here. I said earlier that this fic was off the meter, and then I said that it was out where the trains don't run. So I guess now we're pretty much off the edge of the map.

One of the questions that you have when you watch a James Bond movie is where does the villain get his henchmen? He has a secret rocket base under a volcano, but where does he do his hiring? Does he put an ad in The New York Times? And what about the guys who work at the secret rocket base under the volcano? Do their families know they have this job? I decided that for The Organization to work, it needed a couple of things. First, how do they get their moles. The answer I came up with was Opticon Scintil, which we've already covered. The second question that had to be addressed was where do they get their staff, and all that firepower. The answer I came up with was a rogue private military contractor. It also gave a way for Eliza to rise so high in The Organization at such a young age.

Private military contractors are very real. PMC has really become kind of a modern politically correct term for mercenary, a word which has fallen out of favor for reasons I won't go into here. For the record, there are many legitimate PMCs which do good and necessary work. There are also some dodgy outfits, although ZR Security Ops is absolutely not based on anyone real world.

Research for this part of Terudom included a book called Emergency Sex And Other Desperate Measures, which talks about some of the problems the UN has had with some of its dodgier peacekeeping troops. Also, I read up on Blackwater, an infamous PMC that was in the news off and on at one time. The Maiwand Massacre is sort of based on a real ambush in Iraq involving Blackwater operators that left a lot of civilians dead. That having been said, this is not meant to be a screed against PMCs in general or Blackwater in particular. I will say that I was kind of taken with the idea that The Organization might have grown partly out something we did with the best of intentions that later turned around and bit us on the asteroids. Readers are strongly cautioned against trying to infer anything about my political beliefs from anything that I write here. If you want to read up on Blackwater or PMCs, you can certainly do so elsewhere, but be warned that much of what you will read was written by people with axes to grind of one sort or another.

For the record, Maiwand Road in Kabul is a real place. I picked a traffic circle there as the site of the Maiwand Massacre, but to my knowledge no ambush or massacre has ever occurred there. On the other hand, Afghanistan has been a killing ground since 1979, so for all I know there has been a massacre there. If so, it's purely a coincidence, I assure you.

There's Dr No, and there's Goldfinger. In Dr No, Bond doesn't meet Dr No until he gets captured poking around Crab Key. Goldfinger he meets socially, and the two characters get to meet, size each other up, get in each others faces, and get on each other's nerves before all of the defecation completely hits the rotary oscillator. The Following tended to do Dr No. I like Goldfinger better. Which doesn't mean that Max is going to threatened with being cut in half with a laser beam, or that Mike is getting suspended over a shark tank. But they may be endangered in other ways.

Administrative note: I've opened an AO3 account as Absolute_Elsewhere (Note the underscore AO3 doesn't allow the use of the space bar in account names), and plan to eventually post Terudom there as a backup. This came about because of the recent outage at . I am NOT moving away from , the AO3 account is only backup just in case. I consider AO3, from what I have seen of it, to be inferior to . It also contains a rather high percentage of smut, which I have no interest in writing.

I note an increase in hits from overseas, Australia in particular. So thanks to all of my readers, wherever in the world they live. Thank you for your interest and support. Questions, comments, and feedback, positive and negative, are always welcome. So that's all for now. See you next time.


	8. Chapter 8 - A Trail Of Dead Bodies

Disclaimer: It's fanfic, meaning I don't own anything or make any money off of it. It's a labor of love. Please don't sue me.

This chapter is rated T. Apart from some language, I don't think there's much in this chapter that wouldn't pass muster on an episode of The Following. If you're old enough to watch The Following, you're old enough to read this.

Thanks to Stunspored, for constructive criticism and suggestions, and for using the phrase 'down the rabbit hole" in a PM. It was used in a different context, but it sort of fit right into this chapter

Chapter 8 - A Trail Of Dead Bodies

Mike Weston's phone came to hellish life, jolting him rudely out of a very pleasant dream. He rolled over to face the night stand, cursing under his breath, and reached for the phone, wishing that he could inflict serious harm on whoever it was. "Mike Weston"

He listened to Galen's voice, thinking that whatever this was, the Bureau could surely find another agent who was better rested. But as Galen talked, sleep fell away from him, and comprehension dawned. "Ok, ", he said. "We'll be there as soon as we can."

"What is it?" Max asked as he hung up.

"You're not gonna believe this one. Adrian Marloth is dead. He's been killed in his own home. There's multiple fatalities. Galen wants us on it."

He could feel Max getting out of the bed. He looked over, and saw her reaching for her robe. "Wakey," she said. "C'mon. Up and at 'em."

"It's just after three am, he said. I was having a really nice dream," he complained, as he got up. "Mostly about you."

"Uh huh. I think I wore you out last night," she said. He looked at her, smiling wordlessly. "But," she added, "unfortunately, they're running in shifts. Again."

II

Derek Hands got his wake up call shortly after Mike Weston, only his was from Eliza.

"Sherwood Forest, Robin Hood speaking."

"It's Eliza. Adrian is dead. He was shot and killed in his..."

"Whoa," Hands interrupted. "Just a second. I'm not alone here. Hold. One second." He put the phone down, got out of bed, and reached for his boxers.

"Who's that?" a woman's voice asked.

Hands turned to the sleepy blonde woman still lying in bed. "Work," he replied. "Just stay there, I'll go in the other room." He picked up his phone, and took it into his living room. "Ok, continue," he said.

"Who's there?" Eliza asked.

"A woman, if you must know. I'm allowed a personal life. What's this about Adrian?"

"He was killed this evening, " Eliza said. " In his own home. Someone broke in. He's dead, along with at least three of those bodyguards you assigned."

"You hired 'em. So do you want me to go over there?"

"No, I do not want you to go over there. The police are there, and maybe the FBI by now. I've called our inside man, and told him to assign Mike Weston and Max Hardy. Orders from the top."

"So they think this is it? This is our guy?"

"They do. So do I"

"So why am I awake at this hour of the morning? Do you want me to come over and hold your hand?"

"Be at my office at 9:30. Leave the snark at home if you know what's good for you. I'll call Zack Coleman. Have a bag packed, and be ready to travel on short notice."

She hung up, and Hands reflected that the call could have waited until after daylight. Shit. So upper management is in panic mode, and shit rolls downhill, she's actually spooked. Christ, maybe she does want someone to hold her hand. Or maybe they've chewed her ass out, and maybe she wants someone else's ass to chew out.

"Who was that?" Hands turned to see the blonde woman standing in the bedroom door, in a T shirt.

"Work"

"I thought you said you were a salesman," she said.

"You know how it is. Sometimes people just suddenly discover that they need chemicals at three in the morning."

III

They drove in silence, Mike at the wheel. "Everyone connected to this case keeps turning up dead," he said. "Whatever this case is."

"Someone has a serious vendetta against RCS," said Max. First Rickard, now Marloth, and someone framed Gavin Leach and then murdered him to muddy the waters. Because I don't believe for a minute he had anything to do with that hack. Could this all be connected to Eliza Getman and ZR Security Ops?"

" Well, we know she lied to you the day you met her with Ryan, and I'm pretty sure she lied to us. And she knew Jason Rickard. Probably Marloth too."

"You remember me telling you about when Theo captured Ryan? And he escaped, and I killed a guy who was taking aim at him?"

"Yeah"

"Well, I looked it up, and that man was ex military. And he had a military weapon that had been overseas. Could he have worked for Eliza? "

"I don't see how," Mike said.

"She hires a lot of ex military guys."

"Didn't Ryan say the man worked for Theo?"

"He did."

"Well, then the guy must have worked for Theo. Right?"

Max sat in silence. "Right?" Mike repeated after a long pause. "Where are you going with this?"

"I don't know," Max replied. "I just...it all feels wrong, somehow."

"How specifically?", Mike said.

"What if she knew Theo?"

"Look," Mike said, "I know it's odd. But it's a coincidence. I don't know where this case is taking us, but it's got nothing to do with Ryan. Are you holding out some kind of hope that he's still out there?"

They had turned down a residential street, one with fine homes surrounded by large, well kept yards. Ahead they could see an array of flashing blue lights, emergency vehicles, and clumps of bystanders. Mike pulled over near a police car. He cut the engine and turned to face Max. "Are you?" he asked again.

"Yes," she said, and her eyes were damp with unshed tears.

"Do you remember what you said to me, right after that business with the truck bomb? You told me I was all you had. Well, that cuts both ways. You're all I have, and I cannot lose you. To anything. I can take a punch, and get back up again. I've seen my own blood. I've survived a lot, but I could not survive losing you. That includes losing you down some rabbit hole. And I keep seeing little things. I don't think you're crazy. Losing Ryan hurt me too. When I finally stood in front of his grave...I". He shook his head at the memory. "I love you, and I'm worried about you. We'll talk about this some more. Right now we gotta go to work. Are you gonna be OK?"

Max nodded, and rubbed her eyes briefly with her hands. "I'm OK", she said. Then she got out of the car, and started walking purposefully toward the line of yellow tape.

IV

The homicide detective in charge was a heavyset black man with close cropped hair and a moustache named Danvers. " Apparently this place had an alarm system. High end. It never went off, and we don't know why."

He was leading them up a walkway towards the house. It was hard to make out the details in the pre-dawn darkness, even with lights from a phalanx of police vehicles. The walkway led to an opening between two high, curving brick walls, and trees were planted behind them clse to the house. Once past the walls, the walkway was covered over by a roof supported by square brick columns. Clearly the place was impressive, and the trees gave it quite a bit of privacy.

"We don't know how many there were," Danvers said, "but they left a trail of dead bodies through the house. "The guy's wife, Sarah, is in Maryland. She's been notified." They walked in through the front door, and found themselves in an entryway with a tile floor. Ahead was wide entryway to what looked like a large living room. To the right, they could see what looked like an entryway to a kitchen. There was a dining room behind them to their right. To the left was a large curving U shaped staircase. Below the landing halfway up was another door. At the bottom of the staircase, just inside the front door, lay a body covered by a sheet.

"This was one of the security guys," Danvers said. "There were several. Most of 'em are dead." Next to the body lay a Ruger 22/45 with a silencer. The slide was locked back. A 9mm VP 30 lay on the floor as well.

"Was he shot?" Mike asked.

"No," Danvers replied. "ME says it was probably a broken neck. The gun was used upstairs. You can see the guy hit slide lock, and there's no spent brass down here."

"Whose gun is that?" Max asked, pointing at the VP 30.

"It belonged to the guard," Danvers replied. He had it in a shoulder rig. He got it out, but didn't have time to use it. He and the guy may have surprised each other."

Mike knelt down, and pulled back the sheet to look at the dead security man. He was wearing an expensive leather jacket and had a close cropped, military style haircut. Blood had run out his nose, which appeared to be broken. His left eye was swollen and blackened. "The eye socket looks fractured," Danvers remarked. Someone had a fist that could stop a freight train."

Max reached into her pocket and pulled out a pair of blue nitrile gloves. She put them on, and picked up the Ruger. "Serial number's been filed off," she said. "We'll send it to the lab, and see what they can do with it. And this silencer looks homemade."

"There's more bodies upstairs," Danvers said.

The top of the staircase ended in a walkway with railings on either side. On the right side the walkway looked down on the entry hall, on the left, the living room. Ahead were two doors. One on the left side of the short hallway ahead, the other straight ahead. That one was open, and another sheet covered body body was lying in the just inside the open door. Unlike the sheet downstairs, this one had visible bloodstains.

The room had been converted into an office. There was a computer desk a couple of chairs, bookshelves, and a small filing cabinet. The filing cabinet had been pushed aside to reveal a wall safe, which was open. Another dead body lay before it, covered by another bloodstained sheet. Here and there on the floor were scattered spent cartridge casings.

"The guy by the safe is Adrian Marloth," said Danvers. "The surviving security guy IDed him. The guy in the door was security."

Mike looked under the sheet covering Marloth's body. "Head shot," he said.

"Yeah," Danvers replied. "Double tap, close range."

"He's wearing a robe", Mike said. "Where's the master bedroom?"

"Downstairs," said Danvers. "Through that door below the staircase. The bed was slept in."

"So maybe he got a wake up call from someone who wanted him to open the safe," Mike said. "He does it. Then he's executed. That security guy must have come upstairs for some reason and heard the body hit the floor. He comes through the door to check it out, and he's dead right there. The killer had a silenced .22. Quiet as a whisper, but not much stopping power. So he goes for slide lock**, runs downstairs, meets another security guy, and takes him out hand to hand. Which explains why he dropped the pistol. He needed both hands to fight. And he didn't pick it up after because he was in a hurry to leave."

"Any idea what was taken?" Max asked.

"No," Danvers replied. The remaining security man doesn't know what was kept in here. He'd just been hired. Apparently most of these guys were new hires, as in the last few days."

"We'll want to talk to this one survivor, " she said. "How did he get in?"

"Through a back door to the garage. He picked the lock. The alarm never sounded."

"Show me," she said.

The garage was located past the kitchen they had spotted when they came in. A short hallway led from the kitchen and passed a storage room and a bathroom. It ended at a door to a barn sized garage with three roll up doors in which two sports cars and an SUV were parked. There was a door in the corner standing open that led to the driveway. There was also another body lying near it.

"Another guard," Danvers said.

"This guy had more protection that some heads of state," Max remarked. "Not that did him much good. I'm guessing he did this on the way out."

"Yeah," danvers replied. There's a couple of spent cartridge casings. Forty-five caliber hollow points. This wasn't silenced. He didn't have time to pull his forty on the guy at the bottom of the stairs, but this... And that door. There should have been an alarm when it was opened. There's motion detectors all through the house, and all the doors and windows have sensors."

"Wireless system?" she asked.

"That's right."

"Ok, so he had a signal jammer. Or it was hacked. Or both."

"Aren't the high end ones supposed to be encrypted?" Danvers asked.

"Look around you," she said. "Someone walked into the guy's bedroom. So either it was unencrypted or someone broke the encryption. If we look hard enough, we can probably find a receiver hidden somewhere that captured the wireless signals from the alarm. It'll be outside the house. About the size of a GPS on a car. Maybe in the bushes, or in a tree. There's trees planted right next to the house. Check The rain gutters. It has to be physically close to the house, since the signals don't carry far."

"Sometimes they can capture the password that way," she said, excitedly. "If they do that, then they can also receive data from the alarm system. They can tell when doors in the house open and close, so they know where everyone in the house is. They make the alarm system work for them. I think something like that happened here."***

"I'll get my people looking for that receiver," said Danvers. As he turned to go, he glanced at Mike. "Does she have a second job as a cat burglar?"

Mike smiled. "If she does," he said, "we'll never catch her at it."

After Danvers had gone, Max asked "So what did he take out of the safe? Whatever it was, he knew exactly where to find it, and he must have wanted it pretty bad to take on this many guards"

"Wait a minute," Mike said. "Except for Jason Rickard, all of these killings were clean and professional, like this one. Let's assume that all of these killings, except for Jason Rickard, were done by the same person or group. Now Jill Mallory was waterboarded, and other than Jason Rickard she was th last person to be killed. So she was interrogated about something, but what? The contents of the safe? Did the killer know where to look for whatever it was because he tortured the information out of Mallory? Did she connect up with Adrian Marloth somehow?"

"And if they were connected," she replied, "then were all of the victims connected somehow?"

Mike shook his head. "More questions, and no answers. Unless the lab can get something off that gun."

"Let's talk to this sole survivor," Max said.

They found the sole survivor standing near a CSI van, looking more than a little worried, surrounded by two uniformed officers and a short, middle aged detective with slightly unkempt gray hair sticking out from under his wool pub cap.

Mike showed him his badge. "Agents Weston and Hardy, FBI. You were working security?"

The man nodded dumbly.

"Name," Mike said

"Asa Schindler"

"What happened?" Mike asked.

"I was outside, walking around the perimeter. Victor called on the radio and said we had an intruder..."

"Who's Victor?" Max interrupted.

"He was the guy in charge. He was killed at the bottom of the stairs. He called on the radio, and said there was a guy upstairs. I was in front of the house, walking around near the street. I pulled my piece and headed for the front door..."

"You pulled your piece?" She interrupted again. "You got a permit for that piece?"

"Yeah. The company arranged it."

"Would that company happen to be ZR Security Ops?" she asked.

"Yeah, how'd you know?"

"Lucky guess," she said, looking at Mike. "Go on."

"I went in the front door. I found Victor at the bottom of the stairs, dead. I stated looking for the guy. I checked the living room, the downstairs bedroom...by the time I got to the garage whoever it was had already killed Brauer, and I guess gone out the back."

"You ex military?" Mike asked.

"Yeah. Most of us were."

"Including Victor?"

"Yeah, but Victor was Russian. He was in their military. Victor Nekrassov. He said he was former Spetsnaz. "

"So you went in the garage," Mike said.

"Yeah, but the door was open, and he was gone, and I didn't follow. I called the cops."

Danvers walked up with a clear plastic evidence bag clutched in his hand. "Good call," he said to Max. "It was in a gutter." He handed her the evidence bag. Inside it was a small black rectangular device about the size of a portable hard drive.

"We'll take the gun and receiver and give them to the Bureau's crime lab," Mike said. "They can do some etching**** on the gun. Thanks"

"Excuse us for a moment," Max said. "I want to consult with my partner"

They walked out of earshot. The eastern sky showed the first glow of approaching dawn. The sky was clearing, and the air was noticeably drier. The day promised to be clear and cold.

"You were wondering about a connection between the victims," she said. "Well, there's one connection right over there." She pointed at Schindler. "I'll bet you fifty dollars and a box of donuts that Eliza was providing security to all of these people. And whatever it was that caused them to be hunted by a professional killer, she is up to her eyeballs in it."

"You may be right," Mike said. "But this doesn't change what I said earlier about Ryan."

"I never said it did. But she lied to us ten months ago, and I think she lied yesterday."

"Let's get that gun to the lab," Mike said.

V

Derek Hands sat in a chair in front of Eliza's desk while she stood in front of the window looking out at the magnificent, and very expensive view. A cup of coffee was in his hand, the matching saucer and spoon on her desk. Her coffee cup sat in front of her chair, steam rising from it. Next to is was half of a muffin.

"Sarah called," she said. "She all but blamed me for Adrian's death."

"Because it was your security detail?" hands asked.

"Yes," Eliza said, turning away from the window. "And because I told him not to go to the party this weekend. With all the scrutiny that RCS was under with this Shiny business, I wanted him to keep well away from the house. But Sarah went, and he stayed home. So now she says if I hadn't told him to stay, he'd still be alive."

"You did what you thought was best."

Eliza considered hands thoughtfully for a moment, the ghost of a smile on her face. "I think that's the first word you've ever spoken in my defense," she said.

"There's a first time for everything, I guess. Don't get used to it. But I think it was right to try to get him to keep a low profile. I take it we're getting flak from upper management."

"And we're going to get more," she replied. "Or at least I will. I honestly think Sarah will try to get me replaced. She has a lot of pull."

"They couldn't replace you. Could they? I mean, there can't be a lot of people who are...the way you are, who have your particular set of skills."

She sat down behind her desk, looked at him, and cocked her head slightly to one side. "And what way am I?" she asked.

"You know. A uh...predator, as you call it."

"Or an insane mentally damaged serial killer as you would put it, if you quite dared."

Hands shrugged, and sat in silence.

"I always knew I was different. From a very early age. There was a time when I tried to look different. To act different. In obvious ways. Really, it was a way of hiding my light under a bushel. My Gothic phase."

Hands looked at her with open amazement. "You? A Goth chick?"

"You have no idea," she said. It was an act of rebellion. Which, I came to realize, was pointless. There's a line from a song. 'I wanna be different. Just like all the other different people.'***** But the thing that Strauss taught me, and I've never really talked about him much, is that being different didn't mean that I had to stand out. At least not in a bad way. If I could look like the herd, and act like the herd, and dress like the herd, I could pass among them like a shadow, unseen. And I could prey on them, take from them, enjoy them, and use them, in ways they would never even suspect."

"So Strauss was Henry Higgins to your Eliza Doolittle?"

"In a way," Eliza said. "Henry Higgins taught Eliza Doolittle proper speech and manners so she could pass for a Duchess at an ambassador's party. Once he was done, she presented herself in a way that people would accept. Strauss didn't teach me how to kill. I already knew. Strauss taught me how to look...safe. Respectable. Strauss found me so deliciously low. So horribly dirty. He taught me to be the duchess at the ball. And for me, the difference between before Strauss and after, wasn't in how I behaved. It was in how I was treated."

"So did he become accustomed to your face? I'm a sucker for a happy ending."

"I doubt," Eliza said, "that he was capable of the emotion."

Hands shook his head, smiling. "A woman who knows the classics. You never cease to surprise me."

"I should hope not, " she said. " But you wouldn't be so surprised if you didn't constantly underestimate me."

"I underestimate you?"

"Oh yes. You think me twisted because I kill for pleasure. You don't think of me as a predator, you think of me as sick. Well adapted, but sick. You think of yourself like a soldier, or a samurai. You see yourself as a professional, and you think that makes you better than me. You tell yourself that it's not personal, it's business. Maybe you even tell them that. But death is the most personal thing there is. You're assigned a target by your paymasters. I select my victims, from among those I hate, or those I desire. You do it for a living. It's what I live for. And after, you drink, and try to forget. I remember the despair in their eyes."

Hands shifted in his seat, and took a sip of his coffee. "That's...interesting."

"I think this is also the first time I've ever seen you at a loss for words."

"Don't get used to that either," Hands replied.

"The point is, being a professional doesn't make you better than a predator. Spengler was right. The predator is the highest form of life. That's why I'm the organ grinder, and you're the monkey."

Hands burst out laughing. "Ya know, Boss Lady, if I'm going to be subjected to this kind of abuse, I'm going to start demanding more bananas."

"So, this woman...anyone serious?"

"Excuse me?" Hands asked.

"Just curious."

"Just someone I met. You're interested in your competition?"

"Don't flatter yourself," she said, smiling. " Relationships are a point of vulnerability. I like to know about my key people."

"Key am I? That's good to know. Speaking of relationships and vulnerabilities, let's get to the matter at hand. "You say you've had Weston and Hardy put on Adrian's killing. You think this is what we've been waiting for, and they'll get somewhere with it?"

" I think this is exactly what we've been waiting for. And maybe they're the only ones who can get anywhere with it. There's been a break. A gun was left at the scene. If they can recover the serial number, maybe it can be traced."

'That's awfully thin," said Hands. "There's a lot of guns out there. If they get a hit, what then?"

"They'll follow it wherever it leads. And we'll follow them. If they can at least get close...who knows? Perhaps this time you and I will be working together in the field."

"What I've always wanted. Anyway, I'm ready for a road trip. So you said it was game on with Max Hardy. Does this mean a rain delay?'

"Not really," Eliza said. "She's hooked already. For now, she can run out the line. I'll reel her in when the time comes."

VI

Mike was sitting in their shared office, taking care of some of the paperwork when Max burst in

holding some papers in hand and grinning from ear to ear.

"Lab got a partial," she said excitedly. "The bad news is that there's a lot of possible matches.

So this," she said, handing Mike a sheet of paper, "is yours, and the other one is mine. And we gotts work down the list and see if anything looks promising."

Mike looked doubtfully at his list, and then leaned over and looked at the one Max still held in her hand. "Just checking," he said with a grin.

"Uh huh. I'll use one of the terminals down the hall. We're gonna break this case."

"Yeah," he said. "As fired up as you are. We will."

She leaned down, gave him a kiss, and was gone.

Max worked down her list, checking each number and the name of the person who had bought it. Each number could be linked to an original purchaser. Two of he numbers so far had been reported stolen, and she made a note of those. Of course there was no way to know if a gun had been transferred from the original buyer to someone else without a background check, but they had to start somewhere. She checked each original purchaser to see if they had a criminal record dating from after they bought the gun. Three names popped up that had restraining orders for domestic violence. One had filed for bankruptcy...nothing that sounded remotely like the sort of man who could scythe through a house full of trained killers.

And then she came to Rat.

Charles Ranson, aka Rat. Resident of Judson County North Carolina. History of militia activity. He'd been part of an outfit called The New Regulators, named apparently for a group that had risen up against corrupt taxation in North Carolina shortly before the Revolutionary War. This new group had some fairly ambitious plans that had included political assassinations and guerilla activity. Ranson had been arrested on a cigarette smuggling charge in New Jersey. The Bureau had intervened and gotten it plead down to a misdemeanor, and Rat had become a confidential informant, reporting on the Regulators. The investigation into the Regulators was called Operation Yellowsnake.

During the course of te investigation, Ranson had screwed up somehow and managed to blow his cover. His control agent had to go in and extract him and his family before his militia buddies could wreak vengeance on him for his treachery. Max read down further into the file, curious to know who had worn batman's cape.

 _No. It can't be. It's a coincidence._

 _Mike's right. You're losing it. Grief and stress taking their toll. It's a coincidence. It has to be._

 _No. It's Not. And it fits in with everything else._

 _God damn you, Ryan, what have you done?_

Could she snow them? Tell them about Rat. Tell them about his militia background. His past criminality. Tell them he needs to be looked at. Just don't tell them everything about Yellowsnake.

 _And if they find out anyway, and ask?_

 _Tell them you thought it was all a coincidence._

 _And if they don't notice, then maybe you can get there first._

VII

"So what you're saying is that this Rat character isn't our killer, but he might know the guy?" Galen was sitting behind his desk, studying the carefully edited printout Max had handed him.

Mike was standing next to her.

"The gun was bought at a place called L & M Arms in Judson County, North Carolina by Mister Rat Ranson under what they call a permit to purchase. North Carolina has two ways to buy a handgun legally. One way is to get a CCW permit, which involves a three month background investigation, mandatory training classes, a check of mental health records, and it costs about $200. It's pretty thorough. The other way is to fill out a piece of paper promising that you won't do anything bad, give the sheriff five dollars, and he gives you a permit to purchase. So permits to purchase sometimes get used for straw purchases." ******

"The point is that given his history, given that the gun was never reported stolen, given that it is permit to purchase, I think we should be looking at this guy. He helped us out once, and that kept him out of prison, but maybe he's fallen back into his bad old ways. And he was more skilled than the average militia type. They tend to recruit from the shallow end of the gene pool. Ranson had some computer skills, in fact he actually ran a computer business. He could do up fake Ids. He was useful to the New Regulators, given his skills, which of course made him really useful to us as a CI.

"Judson County," Mike said. "That's where Beaumont is. Where the hack on that Portland computer originated. Shiny country. So what is this place, some sort of a weirdness magnet?"

"Ok," Galen said. "You've sold me. So you're going to North Carolina. Start packing. I'll make some travel arrangements. And get some sleep, both of you, before you leave. The flight I book you on won't leave for a few hours. I don't want either of you folding at a critical moment, and I am well aware of the hours you've been keeping."

After they had left, and closed the door behind them, Galen picked up his phone and made a call. "Eliza. It's Galen. We need to talk."

VIII

Mike drove them towards home. Max stared out the window at the afternoon traffic. She knew there would br a price to be paid later for not telling Mike now, and it weighed on her mind. But even now, it could all be a coincidence. It wasn't, but it could be. He loves me, she thought. Just like I was afraid of losing him, he's afraid of losing me down that rabbit hole. The one I'm about to dive into without knowing what's down there. But if there any chance, I have to get there first. We have to get there first. He doesn't see it now. But maybe he'll understand later. Maybe he'll forgive me.

Mike looked over at her. "So how are you doing?" he asked.

It was an old thing with them. But this time she had to stop and think. How was she doing?

 _I'm lying to the man I love. I'm withholding evidence in a Federal case. There's a mole on the task force. We may be going up against a psycho bitch with an army of trained killers. My uncle has lost his shit, and he's killing people._

She turned to him, and smiled. "I'm good," she said.

Musical Interlude - I've Been Wrong Before by Abney Park

* Silencers are legal in most American states, although to buy one legally you have to jump through a few hoops. There's some complicated paperwork, including ATF Form 4, which can be downloaded online. If you get your copy online, make sure you print a two sided copy, since if you send it in on more than one sheet of paper your application will be rejected out of hand. Oddly enough, in Washington state it's legal for civilians to own silencers as long as they don't use them. Go figure.

On the other hand, they aren't that hard to make if you have the skill set. Some brake line, a metal or plastic tube, a few washers and screws, and some steel wool, and you're in business.

**Slide lock is where the slide locks back on a semiautomatic pistol because the magazine is empty. The phrase "Go for slide lock" is sometimes use by shooters to mean fire off every round in the gun.

*** This vulnerability in wireless alarms has been demonstrated. The alarm companies take precautions against it, and potential hackers try to adapt. Any wireless device poses security issues. People nowadays love their wireless devices, probably more than they should, but these things always involve a tradeoff between convenience and security. Mostly people opt for convenience, sometimes with unfortunate results.

**** If the serial number has been filed off of a gun, the first thing the crime lab will try is acid etching. A corrosive chemical is applied to the metal surface where the serial number used to be. It dissolves the metal, but the impacted metal under where the serial number was dissolves more slowly. Basically, you apply an etching agent, and the serial number reappears, as if by magic. This can partially or totally recover a serial number depending on how deeply into the metal the person who removed it went. I'm told that to completely remove a serial number so that is unrecoverable, a criminal has to acid etch the impacted metal after using a dremel tool or whatever on the serial number, and then go over the area with a dremel tool again . Mostly they don't do that. I haven't personally tried that trick, since I don't commit a lot of crimes that involve removing the serial number from a gun, but that's what I've heard.

***** It's Saturday, by King Missile

****** Max exaggerates a bit. North Carolina has a two tier system for pistol permits. To get a CCW permit, which allows you to carry a concealed handgun, You have to take class, pass a written test on the law as it pertains to firearms and self defense, demonstrate basic proficiency with a handgun, and shoot a qualifying score. It costs about $75-100 depending. Then you have to fill out a stack of paperwork at the sheriff's office, be fingerprinted, authorize a check of your mental health and medical records, and pay a combind processing and notary public fee of about $105. If you have a CCW permit, you can carry a gun concealed, and can purchase a handgun simpky by showing your CCW permit, but you still have to go through the NICS computer check system at the time of purchase, CCW permit or no.

Permit to Purchase require no training and none of the background investigation involved in a CCW permit. To get a Permit to Purchase, you still have to go through the NICS system, but only at the time you apply for the permit, not when you buy the gun. So a person can get a Permit to

Purchase, go out and commit a crime that would disqualify them from buying a handgun, or have a restraining order taken out against them, and still buy a handgun anyway.

How all of this came about is well beyond the scope of this story, and this isn't the appropriate venue for a debate on American gun law. The above is factually true, but obviously not complete, but that is for reasons of brevity and not out of a desire to deceive the reader.


	9. Chapter 9 - A Shot At Absolution

Disclaimer: It's fanfic, meaning I don't own anything or make any money off of it. It's a labor of love. Please don't sue me.

This chapter is rated T. Apart from some language, I don't think there's much in this chapter that wouldn't pass muster on an episode of The Following. If you're old enough to watch The Following, you're old enough to read this.

Chapter 9 - A Shot At Absolution

Derek Hands sat in his black Acura in a crowded parking deck at seven o'clock on a Monday morning, perusing a hard copy of a classified FBI case file. Zack Coleman sat next to him in the passenger seat, looking around nervously. "Relax," said Hands, not looking up from the file before him. " No one's looking at us. It's Monday morning. Everyone's headed back to the grind. We're not even that interesting. Just a couple of guys in a parking deck."

"I'm not used to this cloak and dagger stuff," Coleman said. "I'm just a tech guy."

"Who happens to work for a criminal organization. A certain amount of cloak and dagger goes with the territory. "

"I just got into it for the money. I had debts", Coleman replied.

"You still do," said Hands. "Before, you owed on your student loans. Now you owe the Organization. And dude, when you owe the Organization, you really owe."

"Well that's very reassuring," said Coleman. "And here we both are with a stolen file, going behind their back."

"We're not betraying them," said Derek. " We...I am working for their best interests. And so are you. Someone said it's easier to get absolution than permission. Well, I can't always get permission. But I'm pretty sure I can get absolution."

"And if you can't?"

"Don't worry, I will."

"So what did Max Hardy find out about Shiny?" asked Coleman. " Anything?"

"More than she realized," Hands said. "But she lacked some key pieces of the puzzle, so she couldn't put it all together. But someone else just might."

"Who?"

Hands made no reply, but simply kept reading the file. He reached into his inside coat pocket, and pulled out a green memo pad and a pen. He copied something from the file to the memo pad, then put the pad and pen away and set the file down on the dash. He turned to Coleman. "Has Eliza said anything to you about any plans for RCS?" he asked.

"She said the Organization would probably buy Sarah Marloth out, and I'd be in overall charge. That's a lot of money, assuming Sarah is even willing to sell. Can they do that?"

"If she says they can, then yeah, they can. Have you spoken to Sarah?"

"Yeah," Coleman said. "I called to offer condolences."

"Nothing else? Did she ask any questions? Did you tell her anything?"

"She wanted to know what happened. She wanted to know who was behind this, and was anything being done. I guess you can't blame her for that."

"Listen," said Hands. "Adrian had a safe. Our lone gunman made him open it, and removed something from it."

"Removed what?"

"Well it might have been backups of his porn collection, but I kinda doubt it. Adrian and Sarah didn't get on with Eliza. I know that partly it was these killings. They don't think she's done a good job of security, but I think there was more to it than that. I don't know what was in that safe, but Sarah and Jill Mallory were close, and Jill was likely interrogated about something before she was killed. I don't like it. First these killings, then this computer worm, and now something that could be a complete wild card. As Satan said to Beelzebub at the gates of Hell, 'If it ain't one God damn thing it's another'".

"So what are you gonna do?" Coleman asked.

"Right now, road trip. The Boss Lady's got a job for me. Something I can't talk about. If you have any copy of this," he said, pointing to the file, "on a hard drive anywhere, I suggest you delete it."

"I already have."

"Good, Derek said. " Remember Nixon's Law, and keep it wholly"

"Nixon's law?" Coleman asked.

"Nothing incriminating on any permanent medium, and if you have to lose it, don't just lose part of it. I'll burn the hard copy. Thanks for this. I appreciate it. I'll see you when I get back."

II.

They were packing to catch a plane to North Carolina. Max was placing her raid jacket into an open suitcase on top of a pair of ski pants. She had decided to go light on the pantsuits and heavy on something a little more outdoorsey. Ranson lived in a rural area. The weather forecast was warm by New York standards, but weather forecasts could be wrong. They might have to chase this guy down, and if they did, she wasn't going hiking through the North Carolina foothills in a pantsuit.

Mike was packing a small toiletries bag. "It wasn't fair," he said.

"What wasn't?" she asked.

"You having to do so much. We were just starting out, and then I get knifed. I'd never been like that before. I'd been hurt, but not like that. I couldn't do anything. I felt like a burden."

"You were never a burden," she said, smiling.

"I'm not used to being...I don't know..."

"Dependent," she finished.

"Yeah, that. Dependent."

She put her arms around him . "Don't get me wrong. You were a lousy patient. Even Gwen said so. But you were never a burden. Your dog, however..."

"Our dog," Mike said. "He really loves you. Even if you did threaten to feed him to Dennis' cat. Which I know you would never have done. What is that thing's name again?"

"Scourge. He's a seal eared Siamese. And no, I would never have done it. Darby's too cute to stay mad at. Even if he did chew on a pair of my sneakers."

"Promise me something," he said.

"What?" she asked, as she zipped up her suitcase.

"When we get back, I want you to think about what I said earlier. About maybe seeing someone."

"I've thought about it already," she replied.

"So you won't."

"I know you're worried," she said. " And I love you for that. I know you're saying this because you care about me. But that woman lied to us. And I can't get that out of my mind."

"Even before we found her," he said, "you told me you had hope for Ryan."

"And I still do," she replied firmly. "I haven't given up on him. Just like I never gave up on you."

He looked at her, uncertainty in his eyes. "I was hurt bad," he said. "But I didn't...disappear."

"You disappeared for a year," she said. "But you came back."

"It's not the same thing, and you know it."

Max regarded him for a moment, as if weighing her reply carefully. "I'm OK," she said. "I promise. And your beast is eating another one of your socks."

"Crap," Mike said, looking behind him. A brown, wiry haired dog with a curl in its tail was chewing happily on a white, wadded up gym sock that it had managed to retrieve from a basket of dirty clothes left on the floor. "Oh well," he said, "I always leave him a dirty sock when I have to board him."

"We better get a move on," said Max. "We gotta drop Darby off before we check in at the airport."

III

Eliza stepped off the elevator of the Mid-Town apartment building where Sarah Marloth was staying and walked briskly down the hall. She was, she hoped, showing more confidence than she felt. She'd been dreading the possibility of another killing on her watch that she would have to explain and apologize for. Derek was right that she would be difficult to replace. Difficult, but not impossible, and she'd been warned once already by Chairman that if her plan didn't show results, there would be consequences, and she could easily imagine what those would be. Even if Weston and Hardy made progress now, it would come too late for Adrian, just as it would be too late for so many others. Perhaps even too late for her.

And if the decision were made to replace her...she knew too much.

She rang the bell, and waited. After about a minute, the door opened to reveal a tall woman in her early thirties with long sandy brown hair and light green eyes. "Come in," she said coldly.

Eliza stepped inside, and Sarah closed the door behind her. I've come here to offer my condolences..." Eliza began.

"Spare me," Sarah interrupted. "I'm not interested in your condolences, your apologies, or your excuses."

"I'm going to get who did this. We've got leads this time, and I will track him down."

"How many months has this been going on? And this is the fifth killing. And you've done nothing. And those guards you provided? Useless. If I hadn't gone the House this weekend I'd be dead too. And here I am staying in this place because my own home is a crime scene, and I can't even bear to look at it. So I'm calling for a meeting of the Directors. The ones that are left, anyway. We need to be rid of you and get someone competent while there are s some of us still alive."

"I just need a little more time," Eliza protested.

"You don't have any more time. Because we don't. And frankly, not only are you not up to the job, I'm not even sure you can be trusted."

"What do you mean?" Eliza asked icily.

"This Organization was set up to provide its members with a safe outlet for its members to indulge their needs. You weren't a founding member. The Chairman brought you on because of your father. Your removing him gave you control over the company he founded, and we arranged for him to be declared legally dead years earlier than would have normally been the case. So you could use the cover of your company to protect the Organization."

"And I've done that," Eliza said.

"Have you? I think you're far more ambitious than even the Chairman realized. More people keep getting invited to the House. Influential people. Connected people. And you compromise them. And you have control over access to this computer program that allows us to recruit people in the government. Which means you compromise them, not us. I think your ambitions go far beyond simply providing a way for the other members to indulge. You're collecting followers. People you own, because you can expose them. "

'People who can give the Organization protection," Eliza said. "People who can help us. Do things for us."

"Do things for you," Sarah said. "I don't think you report everything you do, even to the Committee. I don't think you've disclosed all the people you've compromised. That's why the invite list is growing, but that creates a risk. Why take it? Because you're building your own power base. What are you aiming at? Control of the Organization? More? Maybe some of these deaths even had your fingerprints on them. Adrian always had doubts about you. So did Jill."

"You're paranoid. I know you're angry, and frustrated, and you have every right to be. But this is insane."

"So you came here to offer your condolences, and make your apologies, and promise me that it's going to be different this time. Was there anything else?"

"No," Eliza said.

"Then I guess we're done here."

"I guess we are," said Eliza.

IV

Max was at the TSA desk, filling out a complicated form with several sheets of carbon to declare the gun she was carrying when she heard Mike's phone ring.

"Mike Weston." A long pause. "Understood. I thought Asheville was closer." Another pause. "They have a warrant waiting for us? OK. We'll keep you posted." He put his phone away. "Change of plans," he said.

"Oh?"

"Galen wants him brought in to the Winston-Salem Resident Agency. We're supposed to question him there. "*

"I wanted to talk to him informally," Max said. "If we bring him in, he's likely to lawyer up."

"You wanna call him back?" Mike asked.

Max thought for a moment. "No" _Because what would I say? That I really think we'd do better if he'd quit interfering? That I have questions for Ranson that I don't want anyone to hear me asking? Shit. This is a complication._ "Orders are orders, I guess. So the plan is still that we fly to Greensboro, pick up a car there from the Resident Agency, and drive on to Beaumont?"

"Someone's coming with us in case we need backup."

"Oh" _So much for asking questions before we get him to Winston-Salem. This is definitely a complication._

V

Derek stood in the check out line at the drug store, his purchases in hand. A small bottle of mouthwash for the trip, and some of his favorite cinnamon candy. He had just paid and was pocketing his change when his phone began vibrating in his pocket. He checked the number - Eliza. He walked outside and began heading for his car. "Hey there," he said.

"There's an unexpected change of plans," Eliza said.

"What kind of a change?"

"I'm taking a team down there. You'll stay here in case anything breaks while I'm gone."

"I'm all packed," he said. "I thought you wanted me along."

"I did," she replied, "but I think now that I need someone here I can trust just in case. I don't want us both out of position right now. I can handle this myself. I'm flying down to the ZR base camp in Virginia by chartered plane. That allows us to take all our equipment on the plane with us. We'll pick up a couple of vehicles at the base camp, and head on from there by road."

"Bad idea," said Hands. "Why don't the two of us go? We can fly straight to Winston by business jet.*** But if you fly to Virginia, then it's a long drive to Beaumont. Weston and Hardy will get there well ahead of you. I say we travel light, and we travel fast. We stick a couple of handguns in our checked baggage, and just go. We don't need a lot of equipment."

"No. I have to do this myself. I have to be seen doing this myself. I'm getting too much heat right now."

"I should at least be closer in case the shit really hits the fan," he said.

There was a pause on the other end. "Derek, are you actually worried about me?," Eliza asked, amusement in her voice.

"I'm worried about my job and my meal ticket." he said quickly.

"I'm sure they'll keep you on," Eliza said. "They could never manage without your sense of humor. Now try to stay out of trouble."

He started to protest, then realized that she had hung up.

He got in his car, set the bag containing his purchases on the passenger seat, and sat for a few seconds, fuming. He reached into his coat pulled out the green memo pad, flipped it open, and stared at the notes he had made from the now destroyed FBI file. He had told Coleman that he couldn't always get permission, but he was pretty sure of absolution. In fact, he wasn't sure of it at all. He had a theory, and some vague idea that he could get a chance to check it out, if he went on this trip. He was worried about what would happen to him if Eliza was replaced. But was he also worried about Eliza?

 _Your theory is already in the realm of the weird. Don't go and take a swan dive into the insane._

The sensible thing to do was to go home, let the Boss Lady do her thing,, and not get involved. Because he could get killed if he went, and even if he survived the trip, he could get killed just for having gone. So why go? To satisfy his curiosity? Because of some personal Code Of the Samurai that said he owed the Organization his best for all the money they payed him? Because he had grown accustomed to her face?

 _Yes. So fuck it. I'll take a shot at absolution._

He pulled out his phone. "I need to book a ticket on the first available flight to Greensboro, North Carolina. First Class."

VI

The black Mercedes S-550 pulled up at the Global Sutler terminal, its passenger still talking on her phone. She looked out the window at Stinnes and Kaminsky standing patiently by. "I'm at the airport now sir. We'll be wheels up in few minutes. I'm taking three men with me. One of them will meet us in Virginia."

"As you know Eliza, Sarah is calling for a meeting of the Committee to discuss replacing you. At the moment, I don't think she has the votes. But that could change. Losing Adrian and Jason both puts us in a difficult position. If we don't see some results soon, I can't guarantee the outcome."

"I understand sir. I'll get this done."

"There's one other thing," her chief said. "I am concerned about Weston and Hardy. Galen can issue orders, but the two of them, especially now that they're working together may be inclined to act...independently. If they become a problem..."

"Don't worry, sir. If they get in the way, they'll both be taken out."

"Very well. Good luck and good hunting."

"Thank you sir."

She closed up her phone, and got out of the car. "Get my bags," she said to Kaminsky.

"Yes Ma'am."

VII

"So what species of animal did that meat come from?" Mike asked.

"I'm not sure what animal it was," said Max, "but they probably found it dead in the road. And it had been there for a while."

"Yuck. Well, we'll stop somewhere."

They were standing in the terminal at Greensboro, having just got off the plane. A long flight in a miserably uncomfortable seat had been made even worse by a meal that consisted of a salad that might have been made of plastic and mystery meat swimming in a light brown sauce.

Mike noticed two people standing near the back wall of the waiting area, a black woman with her hair pinned up in a bun, and a fortyish man with pale skin, oversize glasses, and thinning brown hair. The woman pointed in their direction to her partner, and the two of them began walking in Mike's direction.

"Agents Weston and Hardy?" the woman asked.

"That's us," Mike said.

"I"m Monique Sadler. This is Shane Mosier. We have a car for you."

"They said someone was supposed to come with us when we pick up Ranson," Mike said. "That's you?"

"That's us," Sadler replied. We've got time to get you checked in to your hotel first. It's not a long drive to Beaumont, and we should be able to pick up Ranson at his computer store easily enough."

"So why not just let us take care of it?" Max asked. "We should be able to handle it."

"Guy's been know to associate with some militia whack jobs.," Mosier said. "He could be armed. To the teeth for all we know. So we're gonna back you up."

"We appreciate it," Mike said.

Max smiled. But she didn't appreciate it one bit.

VIII

Max drove the Dodge Charger beneath a cloudless blue sky, along a secondary highway that snaked through rolling, wooded hills. They passed houses, farms, and stores along the roadside, but it all had a sense of impermanence. The winding road might have followed wagon ruts laid down in the eighteenth century. Everything seemed to be carved out of a vast forest that might decide, at any moment, to come and reclaim its own.

Mike sat in silence, thinking about their conversation this morning. He'd seen so many small things. Her reaction when she learned Gwen might be seeing someone. Her nightmare. The way she constructed a theory about Eliza and Ryan based on a coincidence.

Was it a coincidence?

As he watched the countryside roll past, he thought back on the day in the hospital when she had said the words "Ryan's gone." It had been like a knife to the heart. There was a sense of overwhelming loss and sadness in that moment, but also there had been something else. A resolve to do the right thing, and to stand by each other. So was he doing the right thing now?

Max was right that Eliza had lied. And there was something else. Max had been there that day. He'd been in a hospital bed, fighting for his life. She'd been fighting alongside Ryan. So her experience was very different. Was she seeing something that he was missing? He was, he realized, faced with an ugly choice. Either believe that pain and grief were distorting her judgement and her instincts, which had always been so sure in the past, or believe...what?

 _She's wrong about Ryan. She has to be. But that doesn't mean she's wrong about everything, and it damn sure doesn't make her wrong about Eliza._

He'd told her that he couldn't bear to lose her to anything, including down some rabbit hole. He looked at the GPS. Well, in fifteen minutes, he might start finding out what kind of rabbit hole he was dealing with and where it led.

IX

The two cars, Max and Mike in the lead and Monique and Shane trailing, entered Beaumont by a narrow, tree lined street that led past a white, somewhat colonial style courthouse with a row of law offices across the street. Past that was an open town square with several massive ancient oak trees, and a downtown with rows of shops. On the right was a small storefront with a sign that said "Beaumont Bargain Computers". They pulled in front of it, got out in raid jackets, and walked into the store.

Inside there were several small tables with computers set up on them and near the back left of the store a few shelves with cables, removable media, and other minor peripheral items. A large wooden desk sat near the back right hand corner of the store with an office chair behind it. Beyond it, they could see an entrance to a back room with workbenches holding towers with the covers off. A short, wiry man with shaggy brown hair and a scraggly beard going gray was standing by one of the tables, apparently explaining the relative merits of the computer on it to a woman in her late twenties with bleach blonde hair. He was wearing a rumpled, dirty shirt, jeans, and a trucker's cap. He looked like he belonged in a soup kitchen instead of a computer store.

"Charles Ranson," Max said, "you're under arrest on charges of weapons trafficking and accessory to murder." Mike and Shane moved quickly to grab Ranson's arms, pull them behind his back, and cuff him.

"I'm a sovereign citizen****," Ranson protested. "You can't do this."

"We just did," Mike replied. "You have the right to remain silent, if you give up the right to remain silent..."

"I know my rights," Ranson interrupted. "And you're violating them right now."

"Well, even if you know 'em," Mike said, I still have to read them to you. And you still have to come with us. Now. Don't make this worse than it already is."

X

Derek sat next to the front window of a restaurant called The Gumtree. He looked across at the Judson County courthouse in downtown Beaumont and reflected that the condemned should eat well, and given that he had broken Eliza's orders by coming here he might just be among the condemned. The fried chicken and waffles had certainly been good, and an improvement over airplane food, even in first class. He polished off the last of his beer, while listening to a pair of waitresses standing nearby. They were looking out the broad front window, and one of them, a fortyish brunette, was excitedly pointing down the street to her friend, a younger girl with short sandy hair, and explaining how the FBI had arrested Mister Ranson earlier that day. He motioned to the sandy haired girl, who had been waiting on him. "What's this about the FBI arresting someone?" he asked.

"The guy who runs the computer store down the street," she said. "I don't know what they arrested him for. He's kind of weird. Would you like some dessert?"

"No thanks. Just bring me the check."

After paying, he walked outside, and headed down the street half a block to where he had parked his rented Ford Mondeo. He fed the parking meter to keep it content in his absence, and walked two blocks to the corner of Seventh and Vance. As he walked, he kept his coat unzipped, and held it closed with his left hand. He kept his right hand free to sweep his coat instantly open in case he had to draw the VP9 he had in an inside the waistband holster.

He walked down Vance, past an antique store and a hardware store, in the direction of Hammer's Coffee House. He paused as he approached it, checking discreetly for surveillance. There was no one sitting at the outside tables, which was hardly unusual in the cold weather. The blinds on the front windows were closed, probably because of the afternoon sun. He could see a smear of red light behind the blinds, probably a neon sign that said Open. There was an alley next to Hammer's on the right, and just on the other side of the alley a pizza place. To the left of Hammer's was a real estate brokerage.

He cautiously approached the coffee shop and walked inside. The only other customer was a man who looked to be in his mid fifties who was sitting by the wall and surfing the net. The barista at the counter was a woman in her mid twenties with light brown hair pinned up and large oval glasses. "I'll have a pour over," he said.

"What blend?" she asked. "We have Ethiopian and Mexican."

"Ethiopian," he said, reaching for his wallet. He pulled out a hundred dollar bill and a few ones, rolling them up in the palm of his hand so she couldn't see it.

The barista began preparing his coffee, putting a cupful of freshly ground beans in a funnel and slowly pouring a kettle of hot water through them. As she did so, he reached into his coat and took out his phone. He called up a picture. "You've worked here for a while?" he asked.

"About six months," she replied.

"You ever see this guy?" He showed her the picture on his phone.

The barista eyed him suspiciously. "No," she said. "Never seen him before."

Derek called up a different picture on the phone's screen. "How about him?"

She looked at the picture. Bingo. He caught a flash of recognition in her eyes. She didn't answer for a few seconds. He put the bills down on the counter, with the hundred on top.

She looked cautiously at the money. "I've seen him," she said. "He's been coming in the last couple of weeks."

"When was he here last?"

"He usually comes in early evening. I wasn't working Saturday, so I don't know. But he's usually here early evening."

"Thanks," Derek said, helping himself to a chocolate chip cookie in clear plastic wrap from a basket near the cash register. "Keep the change."

"So who are you?" she asked, as she finished his pour over.

He reached into a pocket and pulled out one of the phony business cards he kept. "Private investigator," he said as he handed her the card.

"Cool," she said, examining the card. 'You're from New York?"

"Yeah. Ever been there?"

"No. So, like, what are working on?"

"Can't talk about it. Rules of the game. How late do you work?"

"Until we close at nine. Do you want me to call you if he comes in?"

"Absolutely not. I'll be in and out. Our secret, OK?"

"OK," she nodded.

"What's your name?"

"Ashley. And you're Brent."

"Nice meeting you Ashley. I'll see you around." He put the lid on his coffee cup, pocketed his cookie, and left.

XI

Rat Ranson sat at the table in the interview room, looking at the photographs Mike laid had laid out. Mike stood on the opposite side of the table. Max sat, next to him, a notepad, pen, and some papers in front of her. They'd been at this a while. Ranson, so far, had told them nothing.

"I don't even understand why you guys are after me," Ranson said. "I cooperated with you before. I helped you take down those guys. Why am I even here? This shit happened in New York. I was here the whole time and I can prove it. You guys should turn me loose."

"You want to be cut loose?" Mike asked. "Then it's real simple. Produce that gun." He pointed at a picture of the Ruger. "If you have that gun, and you can produce it, then that proves you had nothing to do with this. We'll release you. But you don't have the gun, do you. You provided that gun to the man who killed all those people. Give us the gun, or give us the name of the man you gave it to. You haven't reported it stolen."

"Ya know what?" Ranson said. "I sold the gun. Big whoopie shit. At a gun show. To some dude. It's perfectly legal. I didn't know the guy. He wanted a .22, so I sold him mine. I bought the thing used. I sold it for more than I paid for it. Made a little over a hundred dollars. I have no idea what he did with it, and I don't care. I did not kill those people. Someone else did."

"You care about being sued?" Mike asked. "Those guys had families. They could bring lawsuits. As for you not being guilty, this looks like a case of domestic terrorism. The rules change. We can hold you while we go through your computers. You used to do fake ID. I bet you're still at it. And we can find the proof."

"The only reason you became a CI," Mike continued, "is that you got busted smuggling cigarettes. You still believe in that same antigovernment crap that you were spouting back then. You haven't changed. You thought we'd moved on. Forgotten about you. You thought it was safe to get back to your old tricks."

"Yeah, I still do believe," Ranson replied. "The Federal government is out of control, and our elections have become a sham. . But believing isn't a crime. Well, hell, maybe it is now. But you know something? We can sit here all day. You can even take me to jail. But you can't prove that I provided a gun to whoever did this, and if you want to go on a fishing expedition through my computer, or computers, go right ahead. You have two things on me, jack and shit. And sooner or later, you will have to release me."

Max sat there, thinking. They'd taken turns with Ranson, and he hadn't admitted anything. But she hadn't asked the one question that was uppermost on her mind. She'd been biding her time, partly because she wanted to see what, if anything, Ranson would confess to, and partly because after she did, well, there was going to be one hell of an awkward conversation with Mike. But sooner or later Ranson was going to ask for a lawyer. So maybe this was it. _Here goes nothing._

"Do you know the present whereabouts of Ryan Hardy?" she asked.

For a moment, it was as though time had stopped. Ranson was looking at her with open mouthed

astonishment. She shot a glance at Mike and saw that he was as shocked as Ranson. She looked back at Ranson. "When did you last have contact with Ryan Hardy?" Ranson looked at Mike, and then at her. He was, she realized, puzzled by stunned look on Mike's face.

"Did you provide a weapon or fake ID to Ryan Hardy?"

"What the fuck?!" Ranson exploded. Mike, she guessed, was asking the same question.

She leaned forward, her arms resting on the table. "Where's Ryan? I know you two have been in contact."

"Not since that investigation," Ranson said. "What the hell is this?"

"Investigation?" Mike asked sharply.

"Yeah," Ranson said. "I thought you knew. He was my control. I reported to him back when I was a CI for the Bureau."

"You've been in recent contact," Max said evenly. "Tell me where he is. Tell me how he contacts you."

"I want a lawyer. Now. I know my rights."

Mike turned to Ranson. "Excuse us for just a moment. I need to confer with my partner." He opened the door and stood next to it, glaring at Max. She rose slowly, and followed him out into the hall. He motioned her forward, and they walked down the hall until they came to an unoccupied break room.

"You wanna tell me what the hell that was?" he demanded.

"Mike, please. I can explain."

"So start."

She hesitated a moment, as if gathering her thoughts. "Ryan was his control agent during the Yellowsnake investigation. Ryan saved his life. I didn't mention it earlier because I don't think it's a coincidence. Ryan is still alive."

"No. No way. We've had this discussion. "

"Mike, I was there, that night. You were in the hospital. You didn't see him that night but I did. He was different. Something was wrong. Something happened. He would have to contact someone. He'd need things. Weapons, ID, equipment. So he went to a man he knew, a man he had worked with, who could help him."

Mike's face darkened with anger. "You're saying Ryan killed those people?"

"Yes, " she said. "I don't know why. Whatever happened had something to do with Eliza. That was her man I killed. Not one of Theo's followers."

"Are you going to stand there and tell me that Ryan surgically removed a man's brain?"

"No. Someone else did that."

"Why am I just hearing about this now?"

"I'm sorry," she said, pleading in her voice. "I wanted to tell you, but I didn't think you'd believe me. And I wanted us to get to Ryan first."

"You think Ryan is...what? A serial killer? A terrorist? That's insane.."

"I know how it sounds," she said. "I know everything could be a coincidence. The glitch in the video feed. Finding Eliza, and her lying to us. The man I killed being ex military, and maybe a contractor. The serial number on the gun. Ryan knowing that man in there. Working with him. It could all be a coincidence, all of it. But it's not. And the fact that he lawyered up when I asked about Ryan, is because he's been in contact with Ryan, and knows Ryan has killed people. Please. You have to believe me."

Mike shook his head for a moment, as though it was too much to take in. "I don't know what scares me more. Either you're out of your mind, or we just entered the Twilight Zone. But the problem now is that Ranson is going to make a phone call to his lawyer. So whether you're right or wrong, your secret's going to be out. Galen is going to find out that you didn't tell him everything. And after that we may be off the case, and you may be out of the Bureau."

XII

Eliza drove her silver Audi S5 down the interstate through the rolling North Carolina foothills. He van containing her support team followed behind. She didn't care to make the long drive in a van with her foot soldiers, so she'd had something a little sportier placed at her disposal at the ZR Security Ops facility in the Virginia mountains. She had been disregarding the speed limit since crossing the state line, moving at the speed of the surrounding traffic and staying in among groups of other cars to minimize her chances of an encounter with Officer Friendly. Derek had been right that time was a factor, but then again so was force, and she had not told Derek quite everything. She wondered idly if leaving him in New York had been the right call, but it was too late to worry now.

Her phone emitted a high pitched, warbly ring tone. She checked the number. Shane Mosier. Which meant it was important, because he had his orders, and there was only one circumstance under which he was allowed to contact her directly. "This better be good," she said.

"It is, ma'am," he replied excitedly. "I'm sending you a video to download. It's an excerpt from Weston and Hardy questioning Ranson. I was recording from the other room, behind the one way glass. "We hit paydirt, ma'am. You were right."

"That's excellent," she said. "Expect a fat bonus."

After the video downloaded, she played it back, listening while keeping her eyes on the road ahead. She could hear Max hardy's voice. "Do you know the present whereabouts of Ryan Hardy?...Where's Ryan? I know you two have been in contact"

More, Ranson explaining that Ryan Hardy had been his control agent. _What the hell?_ Galen hadn't said anything about that. So Max Hardy had pulled the wool over everyone's eyes. _When I get my hands on that bitch..._ She decided to call Galen and tell him get off his worthless ass, find out what was going on in that resident agency, and start checking the records.

XIII

Eliza's phone rang. Galen. "What?" she said.

"OK, I called Winston, and apparently Ranson freaked when Max Hardy asked about Ryan. He's lawyered up. And yes, Ryan was his control agent on Yellowsnake. Apparently he saved Ranson's life when the guy got careless and blew his own cover. I'm sure Ryan Hardy is close by."

"You have a keen grasp of the obvious," she said acidly. "Have you also developed information that the Sun rises in the East? OK, have Ranson released. Tell your people to turn him loose ASAP. I'll have him interrogated by my people. They don't have to worry about lawyers and Miranda rights."

XIV

There is a saying among attorneys that when the law is on your side, pound on the law, when the facts are on your side pound on the facts, and when neither the law nor the facts are on your side, pound on the table. Ranson's attorney, a short, balding, bespectacled man named Shawcross arrived, conferred with his client, advised him to say nothing further, and alternated pounding on all three. They were in the interview room listening to Shawcross complain about the treatment of his client when Mike's phone rang. "Excuse me," he said, looking at the number. He stepped out into the hall, closing the door behind him. "Mike Weston"

"Have you got anything?" Galen asked.

"No yet," Mike replied. "His attorney is here now. He's stopped talking to us. Earlier he said he sold the piece at a gun show to some guy he didn;t know. It was a private sale, no FFL involved, so there was no NICS check. We'd like to start going through his computers. He used to do fake ID, and if we can find evidence he's back at it...

"Let him go," Galen said.

"Why? He's the best lead we've had so far. We should at least do a search of his computers..."

"No," Galen said. "I've been talking to agent Mosier, who has spoken to Ranson's attorney. What's this crap about Ryan Hardy?"

"I'm sure she was just trying to rattle him,"Mike said

"Bullshit. She never said a word about Ryan Hardy being Ranson's control. I've got the Yellowsnake file in front of me. You two were sent down there to find who's behind the Terudom killings, not go chasing after a ghost. I've got you booked on a morning flight to New York, and you've both got some explaining to do when you get back."

Mike stared at his phone for a moment after Galen hung up. Then he walked back into the interview room. "Mister Ranson," he said, "You're free to go." Max looked at him, and started to say something, but he glanced at her sharply. "Orders," he said.

"Hot damn!" Ranson exclaimed. "An American citizen still has some rights, even with a God damn Muslim in the White House." He extended his hand to Shawcross. "Thanks buddy. You know where to send the bill." He paused on his way out the door, turned back to look at Mike and Max, and said "It's been a real slice."

XV

They stepped out into the chill late afternoon air. Rush hour traffic was heavy. "Let's just leave the car here and walk," Mike said. "The hotel is just up the street, and Monique said there's dozens of places to eat close by. Let's go pick one out. You OK?"

"Yeah," she nodded. "I'm sorry. I thought maybe we had a lead to Ryan. That we could get that man to talk, that...that there was some chance of finding him. I've got us both in trouble now."

"It's OK," he said, and put his arm around her. "I love you. And whatever happens, we'll deal with it. Together."

She nodded glumly, and they started walking up the hill in the direction of their hotel. A mostly full Moon hung in the cloudless, twilight blue sky over the building they had left. "Do you believe me?" she asked. "About Ryan?"

He thought for a moment, weighing his reply. "It's weird," he said. "Yeah, it could all just be a coincidence. Or a whole bunch of them. I really don't know what to believe anymore. But even if I can't quite believe that Ryan is out there somewhere, I still believe in you. And I always will."

XVI

Ryan Hardy walked slowly down Meredith Avenue towards the intersection with 8th. He wasn't happy about this meeting, which Rat should have postponed. He wasn't even sure Rat had been careful enough to call him on a burner phone, which was why he was checking carefully for surveillance. He'd told Rat to wait for him, and he'd come and meet him. He didn't want Rat coming to him. Rat had been careless in the past, which was why Ryan had been forced to rescue him years ago. But for all of his faults, the guy was what he had to work with, or part of it.

Things were different now. In the past, he'd had a backup team that he could absolutely count on. Now, if he needed anything, he was forced to deal with the kind of people he'd once spent his life putting away, and he had to hope they hadn't made the kind of careless, stupid mistakes that had allowed him send them to the slammer. He also had to hope he never ran across anyone who might remember him. It was a problem he always faced, or one of them. Once you went darkside, you were forever hostage to the dumbest person you'd ever done business with, because if they got caught...

The other problem, and it was really more acute, was that you never had friends. Just buddies. Your friend would never sell you out, but your buddy would in a heartbeat, for a chance to knock five years off a fifteen year sentence after he screwed up. Of all the things he missed from his former life, he missed having friends the most.

Satisfied that he was clean, he turned into an alley and emerged on Vance. He turned left, and began walking past mostly closed stores, although he could see lights coming from inside Café 42 down the street. He turned down another alley, and found himself at the locked side entrance to Beaumont Bargain Computers. He knocked four times on the door, paused a couple of seconds, and then knocked twice more. A few seconds later, the door opened and he stepped into the back room of Rat's shop. Rat closed the door, and turned to him, glowering.

"You asshole. I should have buried you in an unmarked grave."

"Take it easy, Rat. What happened?"

"What happened? I just spent the afternoon down at the Winston FBI office being grilled about the gun you dropped on that last job. They picked me up here. They asked me about that gun, they asked about you."

"About me?" Ryan said, alarm in his voice.

"Oh yeah. Some chick. Long brown hair. Named Hardy."

"Max?" Ryan said, a stunned look on his face. "Who was with her? Was an agent Weston with her? "

"Yeah. That was him. Name of Mike. Shaves with a fork. How did you know?"

"Tell me everything. What did they ask about?"

"Ok, first, they asked a lot of questions about that gun you dropped. Apparently they got at least a partial serial number off it. Why the hell did you drop it at a crime scene?"

"I needed both hands to fight," Ryan said impatiently.

"I knew I shouldn't have let you have it. I thought you had a guy who could hook you up with heavy firepower."

"Tucker got busted by the ATF week before last. I was in a hurry. I needed something right away. Did you give me up?"

"Shit no," Rat said. "I told 'em I sold the bitch at a gun show. I know, I know, I should have reported it stolen. So sue me. I didn't have time to file a police report."

"You said they asked about me?"

"Oh yeah. We went round and round about this and that, and then out of the clear blue, this Max chick asks me when I was last in contact with you, and where you were, and how did you contact me."

"She must have read the file."

"No shit. Although I don't think she told the dude about it because when she asked about you, he looked like she had just pulled the pin on a freakin' grenade."

"So they let you go."

"Yeah, I called a lawyer, and they apparently got ordered to turn me loose. They threatened to search my computers to see if I was back in the fake ID business, which we both know I am, but they never followed through."

"That's weird," Ryan said. "I would have pulled this place apart. You say they were ordered to release you?"

"Yeah. Neither one of 'em looked too happy about it."

"My God. They're so close..."

"And that," Rat said, "is the problem. They're just so, so close to you. And so am I. Look, I've never asked too many questions about what it is you do these days. I thought black ops, because you had money to throw around for good fake documents and gear. but your ops are a lot blacker than I thought, if ya know what I mean. But here's the thing. You're on the wrong side of the law, like the rest of us. I know you wanted to stay off the radar, and I know you wanted to play dead. And it would have worked if it hadn't been for those pesky kids. But now they've tried to bust my ass, and you're puttin' me in a position. I'm not sure but what they won't try to bust me again. Don't be coming back for any more ID for a while."

"Alright. I understand. Thanks Rat. I'm sorry for the trouble. "

"Me too. Keep your head down for a while."

"I will."

Ryan left through the side door had entered through, and walked back to where his car was parked. If the whole of the FBI had been tailing him, he would not have known it. He found his car, which he had left parked near Café 42, and got in. He sat for a moment in silence. It had been so long, and now, to be told that his niece and his best friend were only a short distance away, that they hadn't forgotten him, and apparently still held out hope for him that did not hold out for himself...

The smart thing to do now would be to leave. Just disappear. If they busted Rat, if he told them everything he knew, what wold that amount to? Some fake ID that Rat had done up. That would allow the Bureau, and thus the Organization, to track some of his past movements. He could avoid them, couldn't he? But there was a problem. This was Mike and Max. And they wouldn't give up. They'd keep looking, not knowing the danger they were standing into. He owed them a warning. And oh God oh God he wanted so much to see them again.

"You know, Ryan, when Odysseus returned, after wandering about, no one recognized him. Except his dog. And you don't have a dog."

Ryan looked over at Joe Carroll, sitting in the passenger seat. Joe hadn't been there a moment ago. In fact, Joe hadn't been around in quite a while.

"What are you doing here?" Ryan asked.

"My job," Joe replied. "What are you doing here? You obviously haven't come for dinner. And you should eat. I think you're losing weight."

"You a dietician now?"

"No, but I do have your best interests at heart. You made your choice, Ryan. As did I. And we have to live with the consequences. There's no going back, you know. It's a sad fact, but there it is. They put people like us in prison, and they put us to death. And rightly so. The world simply can't afford to have people like us on the loose. And yet here we are. You are no longer the man you were. It was easier for me, really. I became what I was always meant to be. You had to discover what you were meant to be, and that discovery was very painful."

"It was," Ryan said. "Living with you was kind of painful too."

"I'm not here to cause you pain, I'm here to spare you a great deal of it.. The people you left behind, those you love, will never forgive for the things you've done. Nor will they forgive you for the pain you will bring them if you return. Right now, you feel like Tantalus, tormented by what he desired that was so close, yet forever unattainable. But it's even worse if you try to grasp at what you want. That's the nature of the torment. Spare yourself the pain of coming close to your former life, and never again being able to grasp it. Spare them the pain of seeing what you've become. They won't forgive you, any more than you forgave me."

"Joe"

"Yes, Ryan?"

"Fuck off"

XVII

Rat Ranson drove his pickup into the driveway of the frame house he shared with his wife. It was located on a half acre of land, and there were fruit trees and vegetable garden in the back. He stopped next to Annie's blue Traverse at the side of the house got out, and walked around to the front. As he did, it occurred to him that the place seemed quiet. His dogs, which were penned up in the back yard, weren't making any noise. But he was tired, and just wanted to be home. He stepped up on his porch, opened the front door, and walked inside.

The moment he stepped inside, he was grabbed by a big, powerfully built man who came out of the bedroom to the left of the front door, and another who rushed him from around the corner og the living room door to his right front. He was overpowered, and tied to a wooden chair. His wife was brought out of the bedroom in back by two more men. Her hands were cuffed behind her back, and she was gagged. Behind them came a striking brunette in her mid twenties.

"Who are you people," he asked. "What do you want?"

"Mister Ranson ," the woman said, "I'm here to ask you some questions. This doesn't have to take long. I'm looking for Ryan Hardy. And the sooner you tell me where he is, the easier this is going to be for everyone concerned."

XVIII

Derek Hands walked into Hammer's coffee shop at the corner of 8th and Vance, and purchased a cup of coffee and another chocolate chip cookie from Ashley. He smiled at her, and while she was pouring his coffee, he pretended to study the rather abstract painting of some silhouetted trees against a dark blue and white background that hung on the back wall. He paid for his coffee and cookie, and left a dollar tip in jar on the counter. He walked past a table where some free locally published papers were stacked and took a copy of something called Beaumont Beat. He walked over to the counter with the cream and sugar. He put two packets of sugar into his coffee, but when he tried to get half and half from the pump dispenser, all he got was gurgling noises. Ashley apologized profusely, and produced a bottle of half and half from the refrigerator behind the counter. He added a dash to his coffee, and replaced the brown plastic lid on his cup. The satellite radio station was playing an old Alice Cooper song.

It was fifteen minutes to closing, and there weren't many other customers. Two young women were talking at a table in the corner, and a man sitting by the window, seemingly lost in the laptop in front of him. He walked toward window, and sat on the couch. The man with the laptop , who was sitting at a small round table close by, looked up at Derek, as though surprised that someone would sit so close to him when there were so many empty tables to be had.

Derek looked back at the man, and smiled. "Hi Theo", he said. "I was wondering when you'd show up."

XIX

Max and Mike were in their hotel room. Mike was relaxing in bed, pretending to watch a game on TV. Max was sitting at a small table, pretending to read her Kindle. Mike got up from the bed, and sat down in a chair next to her.

"It wasn't your fault," he said. "We didn't have a whole lot on the guy. We might have found more if we had kept at him, and searched his computers. But that was Galen's call. It wasn't you. And he can't blame you for screwing up the case if he calls us off and says there's no case. Honestly, the more I think about it, the more I think you'll come out of it alright."

"I'll try making that argument when he suspends me."

"It's late," he said. Maybe we better turn in."

There was a knock at the door. "Did you order anything?" Mike asked.

"No," she replied.

"They got the wrong room, then," he said. He got up and walked to the door.

Max paid no attention, but heard the door open, and she heard someone come into the room. She looked up from her Kindle, and froze.

Mike was standing there, looking as though he had been struck in the head with a blunt instrument. Standing next to him was...

"Hey guys," the man said. "Miss me?"

" _Ryan!"_ It came out as a strangled cry. She leaped up from her chair, flew across the room, and threw herself into his arms. ."I knew, " she sobbed. "I've always known." He held her close, but then took his left arm from around her. He faced toward Mike, tears in his eyes, and reached out his hand. Mike stepped forward, and embraced him.

"My God, Ryan, what happened? Where have you been?"

"I don't even know where to start."

"The beginning is a pretty good place, " Mike said.

Ryan reluctantly let go of them and sat down in a chair. "Well it started when you were in the hospital, and I was looking for Theo. And I found something way worse."

Musical Interlude - Absolution by The Pretty Reckless

From the coffee shop - He's Back by Alice Cooper

* The FBI is subdivided into Field Offices. Under these are two or more Resident Agencies, rather like satellite offices. A Resident Agency will be responsible for several counties. Larger and more populous states may have more than one Field Office. New York has three Field Offices, Texas and California each have four. North Carolina has only one. A few of the more thinly populated western states have none, and are covered only by Resident Agencies. There are seven FBI resident agencies in North Carolina. The one in Winston-Salem is fictitious.

** The Raytheon Hawker 800XP is a twin engine mid size business jet. It has a crew of two, and typically carries eight passengers. Cruise speed is 745 kph. Military variants are used by the air forces of several nations, including Japan, South Korea and Brazil, for roles such as maritime search and rescue, reconnaissance, and signals intelligence.

***Greensboro and Winston-Salem are a matter of minutes apart by interstate. Smith Reynolds airport in Winston is mostly for general aviation and flight training. Passenger service in the area is mostly through Greensboro. Winston, being further west, is closer to the presumed location of Beaumont.

**** There are some misguided souls in America who claim to be sovereign citizens, and thus exempt from Federal law, or any other law they don't much care for. The legal theory behind this is bovine scatology, and not worth discussing in detail here. Claims of sovereign citizenship will not avail you if you are arrested, period, end of story. Search engine if you care about the details.

Hi gang. Absolute Elsewhere here. This chapter took longer to write than I would have liked. Hopefully someone is still reading. Real life has been unkind, and there's not been much time to write. I'm pounding the chapters out as fast as I can, but I have to eat, sleep, hold down a job, and deal with a few other real world responsibilities. It takes as long s it takes.

No, this is not the end of Terudom. But obviously it's a significant turning point, and we've been building up to it for some time. But Eliza and company are still out there, so it's not happily ever after. At least not yet. Hopefully I can keep at it, and you get to find if I, like Derek, am a sucker for a happy ending.

I should add that when Derek suggests throwing a couple of handguns in the checked baggage, that in real life it's a little more complicated than that. Visit the TSA web site if you need to take a gun on a plane. Follow the TSA rules to the letter.

As always, questions, comments, PMs, and feedback, both positive and negative, are welcome.


	10. Chapter 10 - Whatever Time We Have

Disclaimer: It's fanfic, meaning I don't own anything or make any money off of it. It's a labor of love. Please don't sue me.

This chapter is rated T. Apart from some language, I don't think there's much in this chapter that wouldn't pass muster on an episode of The Following. If you're old enough to watch The Following, you're old enough to read this.

Hi gang. Welcome to Chapter 10 of Terudom. In our last chapter, Max Hardy, to quote Rat Ranson, "pulled the pin on a freakin' grenade." This chapter it goes off.

We're sticking to a T rating, but be warned, there are dark themes ahead. It occurred to me recently, while watching my season 3 Blu Ray collection, that compared to The Following, Terudom has been relatively tame stuff. Nine chapters have produced a smaller body count than some episodes The Following. But that can't last. So while there are limits to what I will put in a story, it is a Following fic, and those limits do include some nasty stuff. So trigger warnings and Eliza warnings apply.

And don't try anything you read here at home.

Chapter 10 - Whatever Time We Have

Derek sat across the table from Theo "It's really nice outside," he said. "We could sit at an outside table."

"It's cold out there," Theo replied.

"There's more privacy. Granted those chicks," he nodded towards the two young women, "are wrapped up in their phones. But we need to have a serious talk."

"OK," Theo said, and closed up his laptop. Derek watched as he put the laptop under his left arm, and held his latte in his left hand. _So his right hand is free for the knife._ _His jacket is zipped all the way up, so it's a knife._ Derek rose slowly, and keeping his head turned towards Theo, walked to the door. His jacket was open, and he kept his right hand near the bottom front of it, ready to sweep it instantly aside and pull the VP9 from the holster inside his waistband. He pushed the door open with his left shoulder and backed out onto the patio. Theo followed, and they came to one of the black wrought iron tables and sat on opposite sides, eyeing each other uneasily.

They sat in a pool of blue white light cast by the mercury lamp on the wall above them. Traffic on the street was light, and apart from a tattoo parlor across the street, most of the shops were closed up. No was out walking in the cold. Derek regarded Theo for a moment, looking at the ugly scar on the upper right side of his forehead. "That must have hurt," he said. "I've heard of cases like that before, but this is the first one I've actually seen. You're lucky."

"Depends on your definition of lucky," Theo said. "If you don't mind losing the only person in the world you've ever cared about, someone you've protected since childhood, if you don't mind being betrayed, and hunted, and alone , then yeah, you could say I'm lucky."

"No skull fracture, then? "

"No," Theo said. "It just ricocheted." * He leaned back in his chair. "You have me at a disadvantage."

"I'm Derek Hands."

"I've heard of you. Did Eliza send you?"

"I work for the Organization, " said Derek, "but I'm sort of here on my own hook. I guess you could say that I'm like that guy in Kung Fu. I'm... searching. For the truth."

"That guy in Kung Fu never found the truth, " Theo replied. "That's the thing about searching for the truth. You can never really find it."

"Then I'll settle for some answers."

"Why would I give you answers?" Theo asked. " Are you making some kind of an offer?"

Derek sat silently for a moment, contemplating the scarred man before him, and grinned. "The crumb cake here is really good. And there's one piece left."

Theo laughed out loud, in seemingly genuine amusement. "They said you were a complete maniac."

"That's funny, they told me the same thing about you."

"You answer my questions first," Theo said. "How did you find me?"

"Technically, I didn't. " Derek explained. "Max Hardy did. She traced the hack on that Portland computer. But of course no one's ever read her into what's really going on, so she didn't know exactly what she'd found. I've read through her notes. That computer was hacked from here. I knew you'd been in the neighborhood. That you were hacking from public access wifi so they couldn't trace you back to your home address. I hoped you were still around, and maybe hanging out here on a regular basis. So I hung out too, and here you are, waging cyberwar and having a pumpkin spice latte."

"How'd you know it was me?", Theo asked.

"I talked to Adrian Marloth back when you could still do that without a Ouija board. . He told me they outsourced Opticon Scintil. He didn't have a name, but apparently the guy was a brilliant, dangerous whack job who now has some sort of beef with the Organization. There can't be a lot of guys who fit that description."

"You're really searching for the truth?" Theo asked. "Because if you find it, they might need a Ouija board to talk to you."

"I think I already know the truth. Or part of it. Eliza knew all about you before you ever showed up at the House. She knew you did the coding for Opticon Scintil. You needed a little mad money, so you took the job. You didn't know it was for us. You didn't even know there was an us. Jason Rickard came to you, he didn't have the skills. Eliza probably suggested you to him. I'm guessing she knew just one hell of a lot about Strauss's other students. Was Jason a Straussketeer? I know he was close to Eliza, and he was into recreational killing."

"I don't know," said Theo. "And if I did know I wouldn't rat out a fellow student."

"But you'd have one sliced and diced for setting you up. Anyway, it doesn't matter. You walked in there looking to play let's make a deal. You offered her Ryan Hardy She offered you whatever was behind door number two. But you'd become an embarrassment. You had breached House security. You knew about Opticon Scintil. At least you knew it existed. If you were taken and interrogated, she'd have a lot of explaining to do. So she sent a team after you. That failed, so she tried something a bit more lethal, and sent you after Ryan Hardy. If Hardy killed you, problem solved. If you succeeded, She'd have Ryan Hardy. And then she'd kill you. I wonder which one of those outcomes she really expected."

"Maybe she was counting on mutually assured destruction," Theo said, with a humorless smile. "But she did give me a couple of guys later. For all the good that did."

"The game had changed. Strauss must have left a trail of breadcrumbs to her door. She got worried that maybe Ryan Hardy could follow the same trail of breadcrumbs. Maybe she wanted to put him on the rack and find out what he knew. Or maybe she just had the hots for him. Which didn't, you understand, preclude putting him on the rack. Point is, you were screwed either way. Eliza wigged over Hardy turning up at her penthouse door. She wasn't afraid he'd find out she's got a lousy interior decorator. It was because what the Bureau knows the Organization knows. She was afraid upper management would find out you'd been in the neighborhood. That you two had been in direct contact. So how did I do?"

"I'm impressed," Theo said. "So what now, grasshopper? Can you also take the pebble from my hand?"

"If I do," Derek asked, "will you help me find Ryan Hardy?"

"Ryan Hardy is dead," Theo replied.

"No. Ryan Hardy walks the Earth. He's good, but he can't violate causality. He goes off a bridge, no body is ever found, and our people start walking into bullets. He's taken out five of our top people, plus random assorted foot soldiers. You know, you could have saved everyone a lot of trouble if you'd just shot his weasel ass and gone out for a beer. The Boss Lady has a plan, but it's got a lot of moving parts, and we're under time pressure. So I'm here to make an offer."

"Make it," Theo said evenly.

"Ryan Hardy was in contact with Ranson. And here you are, just a few miles away. That can't be a coincidence. You're bird dogging Hardy somehow. Give me what you have on him, and the name of whoever carved up Jason Rickard. He worked for the Organization, and we avenge our own. You'll never get to Ryan Hardy now. He knows you on sight. But I can take him out. And you drop this vendetta with Eliza. I was a spook. I know guys who do passports. Guys who do professional level ID. You give me what I want, and you walk. I know you've got trust issues, but I'm not Eliza, and my word is good. I'm offering you a way out. Take it."

Theo sat silently, for a moment, as if mulling it over. "No," he said at last. "I want my revenge. On Ryan Hardy. And Eliza."

"You'd be better off with the last piece of crumb cake."

Theo shook his head sadly. "You're actually protecting Eliza. Even though you know she's double crossed everyone, including the Organization. And you think I'm the one who's crazy."

"We're wasting time, Theo. This offer will not be repeated."

"And if I refuse?"

"I'm off the meter," Derek replied. "And the Boss Lady's gonna be pissed. So I have to come back with a scalp. I really want that maniac Hardy, but in a pinch you'll do."

The front door opened, and Ashley came out, toting a bag of garbage. 'We're closing at nine, guys," she said.

"We're leaving real soon," Derek replied.

Ashley carried the trash around the corner of the building.

"Closing time," Derek said to Theo. "Like the song says, you don't have to go home, but you can't stay here."

"You think I'm just going with you?" Theo asked.

"Actually, I don't need you alive."

They fell silent as they heard Ashley's footsteps coming back around the corner. She walked back into the building. Derek stared at Theo. _Watch the hands. Hands kill._ Theo's hands were on the table, and there was nothing near them more threatening than the closed up laptop and the latte. Derek was so intent on watching Theo's hands, that when he heard footsteps on the sidewalk coming from around the corner where Ashley had come, he did not turn to see. If he had, he would have seen a tall, boney young man with short blonde hair and couple of days growth of stubble. Derek became aware of the young man when he stuck small stainless steel 9 millimeter in Derek's ear. Derek heard the sound of a vehicle approaching from around the corner. "Don't move", the boney young man said.

"Got your own security detail now?" Derek asked.

" Going it alone didn't work out so well," Theo said. "So meet my followers"

"Stand up, hot shot," said the boney kid. "Hands behind your back."

Derek complied, standing up slowly. Another young man with a dark moustache got out of the Land Rover on the passenger side. In his hand was a set of white plastic zip ties. Derek put his hands behind his back, wrists crossed, left radius to right ulna. The second young man slipped the zip ties over his wrists, and zipped them painfully tight, with a sound almost like tearing fabric.

Derek kept his eyes on Theo, for any sign that he had caught the kid's mistake. Theo was opening up his latop and booting it up. "He's all your," he said to his followers. The boney kid shoved Derek into the back seat of the Land Rover and got in behind him. His companion got in on the other side, keeping Derek between them. As the land Rover sped off into the night, the blonde kid frisked Derek, relieving him of his VP9 and the two spare magazines that he wore on his belt.

II

Eliza stood in the living room of the Ranson house, looking at the man before her, tied to the chair. Wires from the electrodes clipped to his ears led to a black case about the size of a briefcase that was sitting on a table. The case was open to reveal a few knobs and digital readouts, and the device it contained was plugged into the wall. Ranson was slumped over. His wife lay on the floor, gagged, and unconscious. The right side of her face was badly burned. The room smelled of burnt flesh, urine, and stark claustrophobic terror.

Eliza bent down to look closely at Ranson's face. She noted the blood coming from his mouth, straitened up, and scowled at the man operating the controls on the device. "Damn it, I told you to be careful. I need him able to talk. I think he's bitten his tongue through."

The man extended a nitrile gloved hand, and examined Ranson's mouth quickly. "It's OK, Ma'am, he said. One of his teeth exploded, is all."

Eliza pulled Ranson's head up by the hair, and looked him in the face. "Mister Ranson," she said, loudly. "How many safe houses does Ryan Hardy have?"

"I don't know," Ranson said thickly. "He moves around a lot. Has places...I did some fake ID for him. The names I gave you. Those three names...but there's other guys. He deals with different people when he travels...He doesn't stay in any one place too long...please don't do it anymore. Please."

"So there's a place on Winder. And it's a dead end road. How appropriate."

Ranson nodded. "Yes," he said feebly.

Eliza reached under her dark brown leather jacket, and from behind her produced a knife, a gleaming karambit with a sickle shaped blade over four inches long that curved sharply inward, like the claw of some predatory steel beast. She stood behind Ranson, pulled head back, and slit his throat from ear to ear. Then she stooped down over his unconscious wife and repeated the procedure. She stood up and wiped the blade of her knife on a towel that Stinnes had brought from the kitchen. "All right," she said. "Pack it up. "Let's go finish this."

III

They sat in the hotel room, Ryan in a chair in front of desk where Max had been reading her Kindle, Mike in a chair by the window. Max sat on one of the two queen sized beds.

Ryan, she thought, looked bad. He had several days of stubble, though that could simply be to change his appearance. But he looked thin and tired. He had smiled when they had told him of the birth of his son, of how they had stood by Gwen, and of their happiness together. But he had not, she realized, ever once smiled with his eyes.

"So going back for a second," Mike said, "when did you decide to disappear?"

"As soon as I saw that tracker bug that Campbell put on me," Ryan replied. "I knew then that this went way up the food chain, and there was no telling how high. On the way back from the catacombs, Max and I stopped...I went 10-100**. And I called a guy, a CI who worked an organized crime case. No one you ever met. You were overseas. Max was still at Quantico. I told him I might need him, and confirmed that he could move on short notice. Now, I didn't know I was going to find myself on that bridge. I was working on a plan, but that got changed when Theo pushed me over. I could have climbed back up, I think, but I decided on the spur of the moment that this was the best chance I was going to get. I was hurt during the fall, but not so bad I couldn't walk. So I made the call when I got far enough away and he picked me up. I told him I was disappearing and it was a black op. Which was kinda sorta true. He took me to a storage locker I rented a long time ago, back when Joe Caroll..." He let the thought trail off. " I had a bugout bag that I never told anyone about just in case any remaining members of Joe's cult decided to settle scores. That's how I got to the hospital, and how I got dry clothes."***

"Campbell gave me the name of the guy who recruited her," Ryan continued. " Eliza would never have done that herself, just in case the answer was no, or Campbell tried reporting them to the Bureau. She met Eliza after she'd proved herself. I got to the recruiter, and started with him. I made him talk, and started working my way up the chain."

"So that was why the first killing that the task force knew about happened months after you disappeared," said Max.

"Right," Ryan replied. "I didn't get to senior people right away, I couldn't. I had to start small. There's the members, and the guys who do the scut work. Recruiters, guards, security types. The wranglers, who supply the victims. There's serial killers, and hired killers. I had to start with the hired killers. But the task force wouldn't know about them, because until I got to the really big, well connected people, everything stayed under the Bureau's radar."

"What did you do for money?" Mike asked.

"I had some cash in my bugout bag."

Mike and Max eyed each other uneasily. "And after it ran out?" Mike persisted.

"I sold Amway."

"Ryan..." he said.

"They say crime doesn't pay," Ryan said. "But it does. Way better than law enforcement. There's people who run drugs or guns. Money launderers. Even human traffickers. And the Bureau knows who a lot of them are but can't move on them for lack of evidence, or because they have protection. So I redistributed some the wealth. It paid for what I needed. Weapons, papers, a safe house here and there."

"Why didn't you reach out to someone?" Mike asked. "We could have helped."

"Mike, you couldn't even help yourself," Ryan said. "And these people are savages. Rich, powerful, connected, but still savages. You have no idea what they're capable of. I wanted the two of you taking care of each other. Taking care of Gwen. Of my son..." His voice nearly broke at the word "son". "And I would never have asked Max to leave you alone at a time like that. I could do this if I knew my family was safe. The thought of you two, together, was what kept me going."

'Well, I'm all better now," Mike said. "And I can take care of myself."

"No," Ryan said, sharply. "You can't. I didn't come here because I need help. I came here to warn you off. If you get too close to me, if you keep chasing after me, then you're putting yourselves in Eliza's crosshairs. And Gwen. I came here because I'm asking you not to come after me. Go home. Please. Forget you saw me. I can get to these animals, but not if the people I love are all potential hostages."

"Actually," said Max, "I think the toothpaste is already out of the tube."

"What do you mean?" Ryan asked.

"We've already met Eliza," she said. " And we rattled her cage pretty good."

Ryan's look was one of horror. "You met her? You can't go anywhere near her. She's a psycho. With an army. How did you meet her?"

"Guys from that PMC she runs kept turning up at your crime scenes," she said. "We traced one of them to her, and I recognized her as none other than Annie Bouchard. So we paid her a surprise visit."

"Stay away from her. She's more dangerous than you can imagine. And she won't hesitate to kill

you both. You have to stay out of this."

"That's not your decision to make," Max replied. "I spent years as a cop, and I joined the Bureau to go after people like her, not hide from them because they're dangerous."

"Think of Gwen," Ryan said, pleading in his voice. "Ryan Junior."

"I am thinking of them," she replied. "As long as she's out there, Gwen's in danger, and so are we. The only way to protect Gwen is to take Eliza down so that she can't threaten anyone ever again."

"You stay out of it," he said angrily. "This is my fight." He looked at Mike, as if hoping for support.

"Don't look at me," Mike said. "I can't give her orders either, and believe me, I've tried." He looked at Max, a smile on his face. "So what happens to Gwen if you make a mistake, or they catch you, or something goes wrong with this one man war of yours? Doesn't that put her in danger?"

"I can take Eliza and her whole organization down. I can get to anybody," Ryan said.

"The fact that we're here talking about it proves you can't," said Mike, calmly. "She traced Ranson through that gun you dropped. Things go wrong. People make mistakes."

"I got careless," Ryan said. "Once. I cut a corner I shouldn't have cut. That won't ever happen again."

"Like hell," Mike said. " Eliza will nail you, or the Bureau will. If we look the other way, they'll just send someone else. If the Organization is as big as you say, then even you can't kill your way out of this, and if you try, you'll end up dead. Gwen too, maybe. I'm with Max on this. If this woman's reach is like you say, if there's no place to hide, then we have to fight."

"And something else," Max said. "There's more than one way to be dead. I'm not just afraid of you being killed. I'm afraid of you losing yourself. You need to be with the people who love you. Not alone, in the shadows, listening to the voices."

Ryan looked from one to the other, uncertainty in his face. "This is a waste of time," he said, angrily. He rose from his chair. "We're not in this one together. I do this alone. And maybe you found Ranson, but you never would have found me if I hadn't come here. And you won't find me again. Not until this is done. Then I can have a life. Finally."

Max's hand came up to her mouth, and she looked at Mike, a stricken, pleading look on her face. "So this is it?" Mike asked. "You come in here, get all Humphrey Bogart 'where I have to go you can't follow', and then you walk out, and we have to lose you all over again? Look, why don't you at least stay tonight? We have an extra bed. We can have breakfast in the morning. Sleep on it. You've been out in the cold a long time. You can stay here for one night."

"A sleepover?" Ryan asked. " I dunno. I left my fuzzy bear at the safe house. I can't sleep without it."

"What did you take out of the safe?" Max asked.

Ryan looked surprised at the question.

"When you killed Marloth," she said. "I was looking into a hack at RCS before I got assigned to the task force." Keep him talking, she thought.

Ryan slowly sat back down. "He was high up in the Organization. They work the way a spy agency would work. They use legitimate front companies to provide cover for their operations. I don't know what RCS does for them, but I do know that Marloth was a big fish. I got his name from another member. Jill Mallory."

"There was no forced entry into her place," Max said. "Did she let you in?"

"Yeah," Ryan said. We met socially. I was introduced to her by a guy - one of their wranglers. I went undercover. Fake ID, and I had put together enough money to pass for the kind of people who could join as members. My idea was to try to take them apart from the inside. I wanted Jill to vouch for me. So I met her. We spent some time together."

"You were involved with her," she said. It wasn't a question.

"Yes. I was involved with her. She trusted me, and she told me some things. She told me that there were some members, some important members, who have issues with Eliza. Who don't trust her. Who want her replaced. Apparently, they think she's using the Organization to build her own power base. Compromising important people. Making them dependent on her. Also, they suspected that maybe she's been double dealing them somehow. So Jill, and Adrian were working behind the scenes to bring Eliza down. Adrian was gathering information that they intended to use against Eliza. And he had a flash drive that he kept in that safe."

"She told you this voluntarily?" she asked.

"Not all of it. I knew they were gathering information on Eliza. But the specific details..."

"So you waterboarded her." said Max.

Ryan stared at his knees for a moment, and nodded silently. "He wasn't really in day to day control at RCS. Jason Rickard ran things behind the scenes. Marloth didn't know a lot of the specifics about what Rickard was doing. He actually stole information from the company by smuggling files out on a flash drive. They were trying to gather evidence they could use against Eliza. Whatever they had, I wanted it. So...I used water. I found out that my plan to infiltrate wouldn't work. At some point, I'd be introduced to Eliza personally, and then the game was gonna be up."

"Do you have the flash drive on you?" Mike asked.

"It's at the safe house I have in this area. The files are encrypted. I can't read them. I was gonna find a hacker somewhere. Someone dark side."

"Why trust someone you don't know," she asked. "Someone who might sell you out. Why not come to me?"

Ryan sat in silence for a moment. "To protect you. But also...because I was afraid to face you. To tell you the things I've done. Because I've become a monster. I've become what I used to fight."

She stood, walked to him, and hugged him close. "Whatever you've done," she said, " we're still family. And I still love you. We both do."

"Can you get this thing to us?" Mike asked. "We're flying back to New York tomorrow."

"Yeah. I can get it here tonight," said Ryan. "And then we can have that sleepover."

"We can come with you," Mike said.

"Better that you don't," Ryan replied. "I'll be less conspicuous alone. They don't know about my safe house here, unless Ranson told you something. So, I can be back in an hour and a half, with the flash drive. They have cable here, right? So, you guys get some popcorn. We'll stay up all night and watch movies."

"Leave us a contact number," said Mike. "Just in case."

Ryan took out a pen and wrote down a number on the note pad on the desk. "Here," he said. "That's a burner. Don't call using your personal phones. I guarantee those are tapped. Eliza will have some kind of long term surveillance on you. Memorize that and destroy it."

They all stood as he rose to leave. He embraced Mike, and said "I'm coming back. Get that popcorn."

"You've got a backup team again," Mike said. "It's gonna be different now. They don't have a chance."

As Ryan hugged Max, he said "I'm sorry for everything you went through. Thank you for being there for everyone, when I couldn't be."

"It's OK", she said. "Hurry back."

IV

The Land Rover turned down another winding country road. There were no streetlights, just houses set well back from the road. They passed a brightly lit convenience store with signs in the window promising cheap smokes and lottery tickets.

"So is this where we cue up that music from Deliverance?" Derek asked. He began humming Dueling Banjos.

"Shut up, dickweed," the boney kid said. "We're almost there."

"Where's there?" Derek asked.

"The last place you're ever gonna see." He had Derek's VP9 in his hand and was looking at it. "Nice gun," he said. "Hey Wayne, can I keep it?"

"Yeah, sure," the driver said.

'What kinda gun is it, anyway? Is it a nine?"

"It's an H&K," said Derek, "and yes, it's a nine, and it cost way more than you can afford."

"When I want your opinion, I'll beat it out of you," the kid said. He held the gun upside down, studying it.

"Would you mind being careful with that?" Derek asked, painfully aware that the kid had the muzzle pointing towards him.

"I'd shoot you with it, if we weren't gonna cut ya up," the kid said. "What are these?"

He pressed one of the two small paddles on either side of the trigger guard. When he did, the magazine came shooting out of the butt of the gun, hitting him in the face. He dropped the VP9, which landed in the floorboard. "Fuck!"

Derek swallowed hard, hoping that his heart, which was now in his mouth , would go back down into his chest. He looked at the kid. "It's German. That's where they put the mag release. Does your family tree branch?"

"I said shut the fuck up," the kid said, and began fishing around the darkened floorboard for the gun. For a moment, Derek had nightmare visions of him managing to get his finger inside the trigger guard in the darkness. He came up a moment later with the gun, and began looking at the cartridge in the top of the magazine that he had managed to pop out. He studied the hollow point bullet. "What kinda bullets are these?" he asked.

"Those aren't bullets," Derek replied. "Those are hollow point suppositories. Because I'm gonna stick that thing up your ass and kill you with it."

"Laugh now," the kid said. "You're gonna scream later."

"Knock it off," Wayne said. "We're here." He turned the Land Rover down a dirt road on the left side of the road. A row of tall cedar trees lined the road, and once they were past it, Derek could see ahead a one story frame house with white paint peeling off of it. To the left, so far away he could barely make it out in the Moonlight, was a dilapidated unpainted barn with a rusting tin roof. Between the house and barn was what looked like a well. A garage with some kind of storage building attached was just behind and to the left of the house. The garage was made of cinder blocks, the storage building was wood, with peeling white paint.

The Land Rover stopped beside the house. Derek could see a beat up red pickup truck in the garage ahead. "Get out", Wayne said. The boney kid slapped the magazine back into Derek's gun and poked him viciously in the ribs with it. "Get out," he said, gesturing towards the back driver's side door. The guy on Derek's left got out and gestured for him to follow. As he got out, Derek noticed that the man's jacket was open, and saw the handle of a knife on the man's left side, the sheath stuck inside his waistband. Derek noticed the smell of decay in the night air. It was faint, but it was there. Something was dead and rotting.

Wayne took the lead, and walked towards the storage building door. As he rounded the front end of the Land Rover he fished into his pocket for keys. The man with the knife took a position behind Derek, and shoved him forward. The boney kid was walking around from the passenger side of the Land Rover, the VP9 in his hand. This, Derek, decided, was it. Wayne had his back to him and was busy with the keys, and boney kid was in front of him, and close enough to grab. _Time to make a move._

Knife guy shoved Derek hard from behind. As Derek stepped forward, he pulled his hands up hard behind him, throwing his elbows out as he did so. The zip ties broke. **** Derek brought his hands around as he stepped forward and brought his right hand around, hitting the kid savagely in the throat, the blow from his knuckles hitting the kid's Adam's apple. Boney kid went down, dropping the gun and making a sickening gurgling sound. Derek didn't try to pick up the gun. He whirled around. Knife guy had pulled his blade and was slashing for him. Derek stepped back, but not quite fast enough. The knife slashed across the front of his jacket. Knife guy tried to slash again. This time Derek was ready, and leaned into him, getting inside the arc of the knife. He grabbed for knife guy's knife arm, and got his left arm around it. He brought his right arm forward, and now that he had leverage, locked and broke the man's elbow joint. There was a loud cracking and popping sound. Knife guy screamed, and Derek quieted him by breaking his nose with a backfist.

Derek wanted to use the heel of his palm for a kill strike, driving the broken cartilage from the man's nose into his brain. But there was a third opponent and he didn't have time. Using the now broken arm as a lever, Derek turned him round, placing the man's body between himself and Wayne, who proceeded to save Derek the trouble of killing knife guy with four wild, unaimed shots, two of which hit knife guy in the back. Derek shoved the dying man forward hard, and went for Wayne, who turned to flee. Derek looked round, and saw his gun lying on the ground where the boney kid had dropped it. He picked it up, and saw Wayne, in the moonlight, running for the cover of a treeline. He took careful aim, and fired two shots in rapid succession. Wayne went down.

Derek looked at the boney kid on the ground. His breath was a kind of bubbling wheezing sound, and Derek decided that questioning him would be impossible. And pointless. With shots fired, he needed to be somewhere else. But he wasn't leaving any witnesses. He looked down at the kid, and said "Now I'm gonna show you how those bullets work." Then fired three rounds into the kid's chest at close range. He did the same with Knife Guy. He needed the keys to the Land Rover. Wayne had gotten his key ring into the lock on the storage room door before he had tried to run off. Derek took the key ring and saw, to his relief, that the key to the Land Rover was among them. He got in, started the Land Rover. More good luck. There was a GPS. Then he became aware of something warm and wet on his upper abdomen. He looked down, and pulled his slashed jacket open. The shirt was slashed as well. So was he. Blood was running down his chest, and he could see a glimpse of rib just below his right nipple.

Knife guy's first slash had cut him to the bone.

V

Ryan Hardy was driving his F150 pickup down the interstate when the signal came on his phone. He checked the message. It was the intrusion alarm on the safe house. So he had visitors.

There weren't a lot of places out here to pull over, but his exit wasn't far. When he reached it, he found a nearby convenience store and pulled into the parking lot. He checked his GPS.

The safe house he rented was at the end of a dead end road. He had chosen the location because he liked his privacy. It was a small brick house with a storage building behind it. The storage building was useful as a workshop. He had made the improvised silencer there. And that was where he had hidden the flash drive, in a safe hidden under the floor of the storage building. He had some cash and false papers in that safe as well.

If the Organization had a team waiting for him, they'd expect him to come down the road, Winder Road, it was called, and they'd be waiting in ambush. Winder branched off another road that also dead ended, making a Y shape, with the branches of the Y pointing north and northwest. Winder branched off of Clauson, which was reached by way of the Cameron Mill Road. There were actually a whole series of dead end roads that led off of Cameron Mill, all of them leading generally north toward the country around Wildcat Creek, which alternated between woods and open, farmed fields. Just south of the creek was a railroad. That ran east-west. If he went to one of the other dead end roads that branched off of Cameron Mill Road, then he could hike through the woods, approach the safe house from the woods to the north, and take the Organization's hit team by surprise. The problem with this was that he'd have to park the truck somewhere, and it was likely to be noticed. Those dead end roads had houses along them, and an abandoned truck would likely arouse suspicion. Someone would call the sheriff to investigate.

But just a little farther east Lomax Road turned north off of Clauson. And just after that turn, Lomax crossed Wildcat Creek. And the railroad ran parallel to the creek just south of the Lomax Road bridge. He could take Lomax, and turn left onto another dead end road, called Harrow Trail. From Harrow, he could drive his F150 down the railroad tracks, and park just north of the safe house. With the bright Moon overhead, he wouldn't even need headlights, and wouldn't be seen. And he'd have just a short walk through the woods. He could arrive completely without warning, and either remove the contents of the safe quietly, or just possibly turn the tables on his pursuers. He had the SIG 2022 on his belt, and the AR rifle behind the seat. _It'll work._

He opened up the browser on his phone, and got some bird's eye views of the area he would be driving into. He'd be driving in darkness, off road, without lights. Navigation would be tricky.

VI

"I'm sorry I ever doubted you," Mike said. He sat on the bed, next to Max, his arm around her, and her head resting on his shoulder. "I just couldn't get my head around the idea that he survived."

"It's OK," she said. "I 'm sorry I wasn't honest with you." She sat up. "What are we going to do?"

"Now there's the question," Mike replied. "The first thing we have to do is get a look at that flash drive. Find out what's on it. What he really has. After that...we have to persuade him to come in."

"Come in?" She asked doubtfully.

"I don't want to go after him," Mike said. "But the fact is that someone will. We don't have to report that we saw him. But if he keeps it up, he's going to die, or end up in prison. We have to persuade him to come in, Be debriefed."

"But he's killed people," she said. "What happens if they charge him?"

"I don't like it any better than you do," Mike said. "But seriously...no way does this end well. Which would you rather have? Ryan going to the Bureau, and telling them about this, or at least some version of it, or two other agents finding him and asking him why he didn't go to the Bureau with this? That's two very different conversations. Which one do you want him to have?"

"We have to at least see that flash drive first," she said. "The more information he can give them, the more he's got to bargain with."

"Agreed." Mike said. "We take it one step at a time. If he can bring in evidence that this is as big as he says it is..." He let the thought trail off. "'Redistribute the wealth,' he said. I was afraid to ask about that one. I didn't want to know."

"Do you think he killed anyone?" Max asked.

"He never said he didn't. If they can prove he did..." He again let his thoughts trail off. "OK, here's how we do it. One day at a time, one step at a time. Don't borrow trouble. The most important thing right now is helping Ryan. So we get the drive, and then we have to talk him into coming back to the New York area, where he'll be closer to us. If we have to, we debrief him ourselves, in our off duty time. We need to know the best way for him to come in and work out what he's going to say."

"And what about Eliza?" she asked. "If he comes in, and the Organization has the reach he says, then he's dead if he comes in, and so are we."

"I don't have an answer for that yet. Ryan is problem one, Eliza is problem two. We figure out how to help Ryan first. Then we figure out how to take down Eliza."

"What's taking him so long?"

"He's not due back for a while yet. Relax"

"I can't," she said.

Mike stood up, and walked to the window, looking out at the city spread ut before him, its skyline dominated by a phallic looking office building that looked like it was ribbed for her pleasure, and should have variable speeds. "I keep thinking about what he said though."

"What?" she asked.

"That when this was done, he'd finally have a life. And that's a mistake. It was my mistake, too."

"What do you mean?", she asked.

"I thought that when I was done hunting Mark, I'd have a life. And I left you to spend a year doing that. And then I get nailed in that parking deck and I lose months to that. Almost two years I lost. That we lost. And we'll never get that time back. Seeing Ryan tonight really brought that home to me." He fell silent, seemingly lost in thought, and then a smile slowly spread across his face.

"What are you doing?", she asked.

"Breathing seven times."

"Huh?"

"I was going to do this some other time, but there's no time like the present. We don't live forever, so we should be living right now. Whatever time we have, if it ends tomorrow, or fifty years from now, I want to spend the rest of my life with you. Max, will you marry me?"

She shot off the bed like a sprinter out of the starting blocks and he caught her in his arms. "Yes. Yes I will. I love you so much. And I can't wait to tell Ryan."

VII

Winder Road took an S shaped curve before it reached Ryan Hardy's safe house. A vehicle approaching the safe house would come north along Winder, then turn east to avoid a steep downward slope, and then turn north again. After that second turn, the safe house would be in view. Eliza decided that the first bend in that S shaped curve would be the kill zone of the ambush where they would finally eliminate Ryan Hardy. She posted Stinnes, armed with an AR, along the side of Winder before the first curve. His job would be to spot Hardy's vehicle and report by radio to warn the others. She and Kaminsky concealed themselves at the first curve, facing south. They would lie in wait until they had Ryan Hardy at close range, and then spray his vehicle with automatic weapons fire. Stinnes, further down the road, was protected from their fire by a low rise. If Hardy somehow survived and tried to escape the way he had come, Stinnes would be waiting to kill him.

Her third man, Van Koutrik, was fairly new, and they had picked him up at the ZR compound in Virginia. He had been brought along mainly for his medical skills, which might be useful if they had someone injured, or to help treat anyone they injured too severely during an interrogation. Dead men, after all, don't talk. But she had been developing some doubts about him. When they were checking out the house, she caught him getting too close to one of the windows, and had told him sharply to get the hell back because it might be wired for an alarm. He had sworn he hadn't touched it. She put him at the second curve, facing north towards the safe house. He seemed disappointed not to be at the kill zone.

"Keep watch," she told him. "You're rear security"

"What am I watching for?" he had asked.

"Anything," she had replied. " Deer hunters. Inbred rednecks. Bigfoot. Now stay alert, stay under cover, and stay quiet."

They parked their vehicles between the two bends of the S, out of line of sight of the safe house, and any vehicle coming up the road. They settled down, and waited for Ryan Hardy to return. It wouldn't be long now.

VIII

Ryan turned off of Harrow onto the railroad tracks. It made for a bumpy ride. He killed his headlights, and drove by moonlight. He couldn't be seen from the safe house, of course, but he didn't want anyone reporting the drunk crazy guy in the pickup to the sheriff. _OK, I'm not a drunk anymore. I'm just crazy._

A pair of startled deer fled across the open field in front of him. The hard part would be knowing when to stop, since he would be unable to see the safe house through the woods. There would be one landmark to guide him, if he could spot it. There was another dead end road between Cameron Mill and Lomax called Iverson. At the end of Iverson was a small group of buildings he had spotted on the bird's eye view on his browser. If they had outside lights on at night, they should be visible from the tracks. He would need to pull off and park just past those buildings.

Suddenly the woods on his left gave way to a broad open field. He could see, pooling in a few low places, some mist, made silvery by the bright Moon. He hoped he didn't run into fog. If he couldn't see any landmarks...Suddenly he could see, through a treeline ahead, some lights on the left. He was driving back into the woods, but through the bare trees, he could clearly see yellow sodium lights, and some buildings. A small factory, maybe. As the woods closed in around him once more, he started looking for a place to pull off the tracks and park.

He picked a small clearing, pulled into it, and turned off the engine. He reached behind the seat for his AR, a semiautomatic version with a red dot sight fitted. He jacked a round into the chamber, and pulled out some web gear with six extra magazines for the AR. He got out, put on the web gear, and headed south through the trees. It should be downhill. The safe house was in the shadow of a long, low ridge.

He walked slowly, carefully, trying to move as quietly as possible. Every rustle of leaves underfoot, every twig bending, sounded like a thunderclap. Ahead, he could see some lights. The safe house. He stopped for a moment, and raised his rifle, using the low power telescopic sight to get a better view.

He couldn't see anything. If he was setting up an ambush for someone approaching from the road, where would he do it? At the S shaped curve just out of sight. They'd have a good clear field of fire. But they might be in the house. Or the storage building. Or they could have planted explosives.

The problem was the storage building. It was rectangular. There were two doors. A large loading door that faced towards the road, which was where the ambush likely was. The other was a regular door that faced the house, which was on the left of the storage building as he looked from the woods. If they were waiting for him at the curve, the large door would be suicidal. So it had to be the side door. He began to creep slowly forward.

IX

Van Koutrik lay prone in his security position, the cold from the ground beneath him gradually seeping through his coat and insulated pants. He had decided that he hated working for Eliza. He had been in a real army, and though the pay at ZR was much better than any regular army, it meant you had to take orders from a mere slip of a girl. He couldn't understand why Stinnes and Kaminsky, who worked with her the most, treated her with such deference, and at times seemed actually afraid of her. His mind wandered to the earlier incident where she had chewed him out for that business with the window. He was trying to see inside the house, had lost his footing when he stepped on a PVC downspout that ran along the side of the house, and had bumped the window. He told Eliza that he hadn't touched it. He didn't want to lose his job.

He heard a creaking sound coming from the storage building. It was faint. He scanned the area around the building. Had his attention wandered again? He was cold, and he was tired. There! A man was opening the side door. How had he missed seeing the man approach? He must have come out of the woods. He flipped the selector on his rifle from safe to three round burst, and squeezed the trigger.

X

Eliza looked back in the direction of the safe house, startled by the sound of the three round burst. "Van Koutrik, report!", she barked into the headset of her radio. "What the hell are you shooting at!" No answer, just more shots. "Stinnes, hold position!", she said. 'Kaminsky , let's move!"

They ran along the road, towards the sound of gunfire. As they rounded the second curve, they saw a muzzle flash coming from where she had left Van Koutrik.

XI

Ryan had reached the side door of the storage building, and carefully took out his keys and began to open it. Squeaky hinges. Crap. The door opened inward. He pushed it slowly, trying to keep the noise to a minimum, painfully aware that he was clearly visible in the outside light. As he pushed the door open, a burst of automatic weapons fire came from the direction of the road. He instantly brought his rifle up, whirled to his left, and saw the muzzle flash of a second burst. He heard the sound of bullets whizzing through the branches behind him. He took aim at where the muzzle flash had come from and fired six shots to give whoever it was something to think about. Then he ducked inside.

The switch for the lights outside the storage building was just inside the door. He threw it, so as to make it easier to escape. He quickly ran to the large door at the end, pulled up a ragged, threadbare piece of carpet remnant in the corner that served as a doormat, uncovering a small handle beneath. He pulled, and a section of wooden floor came up, revealing below it a safe. He punched in a code number, opened it, and grabbed the flash drive inside. There was no time to get the cash. He'd have to do with what was in the bag he kept in his truck,if he ever made it back to the truck. He ran back to the door, and chanced a quick look around, ducking his head back as another burst of fire came from the same direction, and this time bullets cracked just past his ear. Someone's aim was improving. He looked again. With the building's outside lights turned off, he could see better, and...there! A glint from light reflecting off a telescopic sight.

He brought his rifle up, took aim, and fired four shots in rapid succession. Then he lunged out the door, turned to his left and ran for the cover of the back end of the building. As he did, he heard several bursts of fire from multiple weapons. He ran around the corner of the building and headed for the woods. No point in trying to shoot it out with these guys now. Escape was the only option.

XII

Eliza and Kaminsky ran up the right side of the road, their view of the storage building and house partially obscured by trees. She wanted to make it to the treeline at the end of the road, and take position opposite Van Koutrik,. Crossing the road would expose her to Ryan Hardy's fire, and Ryan Hardy was known to be an excellent shot. They reached the treeline , and dove for cover. There was a burst of fire from the storage building door. She and Kaminsky both opened fire, as a figure carrying a rifle ran around the corner of the building. There was no further fire from Van Koutrik. She turned to Kaminsky. "Covering fire," she said.

Kaminsky began firing burst after burst in the direction of the corner the figure with the rifle had rounded. She ran to the house, seeking cover from it's left hand corner. She reached the house, paused, then leaned around the corner and fired a burst at the corner where Hardy had gone. Then she ran to the corner of the storage building. She took a breath. If Hardy was waiting for her around the corner, a lungful of air could help steady her aim. She whirled around the corner, firing another burst as she did so.

But Ryan Hardy was not there. Just night, and shadow, and the woods into which he had fled.

"Stinnes," she said into her headset, "get the van and get up here. Kaminsky, he's gone. I'm coming around the corner. Don't shoot."

Back at the road, she found Kaminsky standing over Van Koutrik. His shoulder was bloody, and he seemed to be in considerable pain. "Do we follow him?" Kaminsky asked.

"No. He knows the area too well. We'll never find him at night. We need to leave."

"Help me," Van Koutrik said weakly. "I am wounded."

"No," Eliza replied. "You're dead.". She leveled her rifle at Van Koutrik's head, and blew his brains out. "You and Stinnes put that in a body bag," She said to Kaminsky. "I need to make a call."

"Yes Ma'am."

She began walking briskly down the road towards her car. The van, with Stinnes at the wheel drove past he headed towards the house. She took out her phone. "Derek," she said. "I need you to get over to Fairfax International right away."

"I can't," he said.

"What do you mean you can't?" she demanded angrily.

"Well, I've got kind of a problem..."

XIII

"What's keeping him?" Max asked anxiously. "He should be back by now. He should have been back over an hour ago."

"I don't know," Mike said. "but I'm sure he's OK. Ryan's made it this far. He'll make it back."

He was worried, but more about Max than her uncle. _What if he's changed his mind? Ryan, if you walk out on her again I'll wring your neck._ "Give him some time," he said, with more confidence than he felt.

XIV

Derek pulled into the parking lot of an abandoned convenience store located on a side road just off highway 68. The sign on the brick building proclaimed it to be The Big R Mart. The place was dark, the windows either boarded up or broken. Two disused gas pumps secured by rusting padlocks stood like sentries in front. There were a few houses nearby, but the area was mostly wooded and there were no streetlights close to the store.

The van and Eliza's Audi were parked next to the building. He pulled up next to the van, killed the engine, and sat there for a moment. Kaminsky came walking up to the drivers's side door, and Derek rolled the window down. "Can you walk?" Kaminsky asked. Derek nodded, but found, as he stepped out, that he needed a bit of support. He had been holding his pocket handkerchief over his wound to put pressure on it, and steering with one hand. How he'd made it here he wasn't sure.

Kaminsky helped him to the van and then dumped him unceremoniously into the back. He landed next to a body bag. A body bag, he realized, with a dead person inside. "Who's that?" he asked.

"The last guy who didn't do what Eliza said," Kaminsky replied.

Eliza appeared, framed in the back door of the van. She got inside, and pulled the door closed behind her.

"I'm beginning to understand," she said, "why the Agency chucked you out. Why are you here?"

Derek looked uneasily at Kaminsky. Eliza reached into her pocket and produced a car key. "Kaminsky," she said, "take my car. I think we passed a burger joint about a mile back. I want a double cheeseburger, fries, and a Diet Sprite. Get something for yourself and Stinnes. And while you're at it, get something for Derek. The condemned deserve a last meal."

"Yes Ma'am", he said. He took the key and left.

"Well?"

"I was trying to get information from Theo about Ryan Hardy."

"Theo?"

"Yeah. Because he's the guy who's behind the Shiny worm. And he's been attacking us because he's pissed at you over...a lot of stuff. So I tried to find out where he was, and get information about Ryan Hardy so I could kill him. But he wasn't real cooperative, and he's got followers now, and I kinda got bushwhacked, so I had to take three of them out. But then this happened."

"So you know all about Theo."

"Yeah."

"So you therefore have information, which, if you provided it to the Committee, would result in my almost certain death."

"That's about the size of it."

'But you didn't sell me out."

"No. I wouldn't do that."

She regarded him for a moment, and then reached into an equipment locker and removed a medical kit. She put on nitrile gloves, and took out a hook shaped needle. "What are you doing?" Derek asked nervously.

"I'm sewing you up. You're bleeding. I don't want to have to explain you at the ER."

He stared dumbly, not believing what he had just heard.

"We interrogated one of Hardy's contacts, and got the location of a safe house. Unfortunately, we missed him. But now I have positive proof that Ryan Hardy is our lone gunman. Proof that even the Committee will have to accept. So since we didn't get him, we have to start taking his people. Starting with his niece. I'll need you for that, you're the best B&E man I've got. And you have this almost touching loyalty. Like a dog. My father had a dog like you. Clever, but often disobedient. My father doted on that dog. I killed it. He never forgave me. It was the first real sign that something was off about me. At the moment, I can't afford the pleasure of killing you. So I'm going to sew you up. A little roadside surgery."

"You know how to do that?" he asked.

"I have extensive surgical training and experience, courtesy of Dr. Strauss"

"There's morphine in that kit. Can I have something for the pain?" he asked.

"No."

"Maybe I would feel better about this if you were a real doctor, and not a Straussketeer."

She knelt down beside him and smiled beatifically. "Relax, Derek. I've never killed anyone by accident."

Derek winced as Eliza pulled the blood soaked handkerchief away from his wound and set to work. "The FBI estimates that FUCK!...there are three hundred serial killers loo...oose in these United States. And I end up... I end up working for the comedian."

She looked at him like a teacher reproving a student who hasn't done his homework. "Choose your next witticism carefully, Mister Bond, or I'll sew your mouth shut."

XV.

Max awoke to the sound of Mike's phone going off by the bedside. . She was sure that she had just drifted off a little while ago, her head resting on Mike's shoulder. He had tried to reassure her, but as the hours passed, and Ryan did not come or call, she became increasingly restless, and finally frantic with worry. She had paced the floor. She had stared out the window at the city below, sparse traffic moving through the 3:00am streets. He urged her to get some sleep, even though she knew he could not sleep himself. He told her not to worry, even though she knew he was worried sick. He told her that Ryan was OK with a confidence she knew he did not feel. Towards daybreak, she had finally fallen into a restless sleep.

"Mike Weston"

He shifted in bed, and she felt him pull away from her as he listened to whoever was calling. Her brain still wasn't working. She sat up, reluctantly, and looked over at Mike. He put the phone down on the night stand, and turned to her, a pained expression on his face. " That was JJ," he said. "We're not going home this morning. Ranson's dead."

XVI

They stood in the living room of Ranson's house. The deputy sheriff droned on about how Ranson's brother had called, been unable to get him on the phone. How he had come to Ranson's house, found the bodies. None of it really registered. The ME talked about time of death, about burns and trauma. But Max stood, transfixed by the sight of Ranson's bloody fingertips as he sat, slumped lifeless in the chair. She stared in horror at his fingernails, lying on the floor. They had ripped out his fingernails. She wanted to scream.

"Excuse us," she said. She grabbed Mike's arm, and pulled him outside, into the fresh morning air that didn't smell like burned flesh and voided bowels. She led him a safe distance away. "Galen's a mole," she said.

"What does a mole do?" she continued. "He makes sure there's an alternative explanation for every leak. Galen told me, in front of a witness, that Gavin Leach was a person of interest in the Shiny case. And Leach was dead in less than twenty-four hours. Galen ordered us to release Ranson so that Eliza and her goons could pull his fingernails out. And whatever he knew about Ryan, they know it now."

Comprehension dawned in his face. "It was all a lie," she said. "Everything. From day one. The task force. All of it. They used us to get to Ryan. That woman. She knew he was lonely, and miserable, and tired. That he missed the people he loved. That he wanted to see us again. And she used that. She used us. For bait. To draw him out. That's why they asked for us. That's why we were assigned. They waited. Until you could come back to work. Because it had to be both of us, together. She's been laughing at us the whole time. Oh God. When I think of it...This is my fault."

"No," he said. "It's not. Eliza killed those people. You didn't."

"I didn't think there was any risk in what I was doing. I thought if I got caught lying about that Yellowsnake file, I'd just say it was all a coincidence. Ryan knew a lot of people, but Ryan is dead. Jesus. What if he is dead?"

"He's not," Mike said, firmly. "And you have to hold it together. If we're gonna make it out of this alive, then I need you focused. Not kicking yourself for something you didn't cause. Because the worst part is, now that they've done this, they're gonna come for us."

She stood staring into the distance. She seemed to tremble for a moment, and then straitened, her eyes flashing fire, her mouth set in a straight line as fear turned to anger. She reached for her phone.

"Whoa. What are you doing?" he asked. "We can't call Ryan. We don't have any burners."

"I'm calling Gwen," she replied. "We have to check on her."

"OK," he said. "We have to wrap this up and get home ASAP."

She held her phone in her hand a moment, and looked at him, cold rage in her eyes. "I swore I'd never cover up another execution. But if she's hurt Ryan, if she hurts Gwen, if she hurts..." Her voice broke for a moment, in terror of a thought she could not even speak aloud, "I'll kill the bitch myself."

Musical Interlude - The Reckoning by Halestorm

* A bit about what Derek and Theo are discussing. It's rare, but there are actual cases on record of bullets ricocheting off skulls. The most incredible case of this that I know of occurred in San Francisco in 2013 and was reported in Time magazine. A sixteen year old mugger with a handgun and three accomplices robbed a man at gunpoint, demanding his cell phone and other valuables. The young man with the gun, being a vicious sociopath, shot the victim in the head at close range. The bullet ricocheted off his skull, killing one of the accomplices. To quote a line from a movie whose title I have forgotten, "There is a God. And he's a comedian." Or to quote a line from one of my favorite movie villains, Norman Stansfield in The Professional, "Death is whimsical today."

The bullet that hit Theo hit the upper right part of his forehead, which is well outside the area that instructors will tell you go for if you ever have to make a head shot. So it likely hit at an angle, and was deflected. I did a little freeze frame fu, and right before Theo goes off the bridge, you get a decent but brief look at the right side of his head. There's a blood splash on his ear. Where did that come from? It would suggest to me that the bullet hit at an angle, ricocheted, and splashed blood on Theo's ear. Was this something the makeup people did on the spur of the moment? Does it mean that the showrunners were planning all along to bring back Theo for season 4? These questions ultimately have no answers. In a post cancellation interview, Alexei Hawley said that they would have considered bringing Theo back for S4. But as there was no detailed planning for S4,we cannot know what the showrunners would have done. It is doubtful that they really know themselves, on account of being cancelled.

But one thing cannot be disputed. After being shot, Theo was capable of pushing Ryan Hardy off a bridge, which would seem to rule out any major brain trauma. So I have decided that Ryan's shot was a ricochet.

DISCLAIMER: Ricochets of the type I have been discussing really do happen, but they are rare. So let me be clear. I assume no responsibility for anyone out there who tries to replicate this. Don't try this at home, gang, and if you do, you deserve whatever happens

** Radio signal used by American police officers and truck drivers when they have to stop somewhere and use the bathroom.

*** Ryan Hardy's Bugout

When I began Terudom, I told myself that I would be generally respectful of the source material, and I think for the most part I have been. This is the closest I have come to going flat out AU. So I guess this is as good a time as any to explain some of my reasoning. In Terudom, I make the following three assumptions:

1.) Ryan kept a bugout bag, and had done so for a long time

2.) Ryan began planning his disappearance as soon as he escaped from the catacombs. The plan, whatever it was, changed when Ryan went off the bridge

3.) Ryan got a ride to the hospital from someone he knew.

Someone asked me, not long after the series finale, what I made of it all. I told her that Ryan Hardy died in the river, and that what you saw walking around the hospital was a vengeful ghost. 'Hypothermia," I said, "will kill your ass if you get wringing wet on a cold night. And it won't take long." I went on to explain that if they were going to reboot Ryan Hardy as a superhero (And that seems to have been their intent), then instead of rebooting him as Batman or The Punisher, they should reboot him as The Crow. Since I had predicted around Episode 10 that at the end of the season Ryan Hardy would die or leave the FBI, this seemed like a satisfactory way to reconcile an ending that left us kind of dangling. At one point, I considered writing an AU fic in which Ryan Hardy was dead, and which went into actual supernatural horror, but thought better of it.

But if I wasn't going there, then it seemed that I needed to have some sort of explanation for how Ryan got to the hospital and where he got the dry clothes. I could simply resort to handwavium, but wanted an explanation that made some sort of sense. So here's what I came up with.

Ryan knew that Max was potentially in danger from Eliza, but he took no steps to warn her. Mike was a potential hostage, but was in no position to help Ryan out, so I suspect Eliza's wrath would have fallen on Max first. Therefore, he must have made his decision to bug out (A term we will explore in a moment) before he made it back to open air. If he did not warn Max it could only be because he had an alternate plan to protect her. One reason I decided that Max would suspect he might be alive is that she would later remember that scene in the car when he told her Gwen was pregnant, a conversation that Mike never heard because of his injuries.

My assumption is that the only credible way Ryan could have survived and made it to the hospital undetected was if someone gave him a ride. He could not have walked, taken a cab, or hitchhiked. The showrunners later claimed that Ryan's path would be that of "lone wolf", and "vigilante", but here I will quote Max Hardy (Or at least Max as I have written her). Ryan would have had to contact someone, somewhere. He needed stuff. Including, that night, a ride. My intent here is not to go AU, or detract from Ryan as a character. but to stay within hailing distance of the real world. He could have contacted the person on the way back from the catacombs, by stopping somewhere and ducking into the one place where Max surely would not have followed.

Now about that bugout bag...

The term bug out or just bugout is military in origin. It can mean a retreat, especially a panicked retreat or a rout. It can also mean to depart in a hurry. A bugout bag (Sometimes called a go bag) is a bag packed ahead of time for possible flight or escape. The idea is, if you have to flee suddenly, you grab the bugout bag and go, and make your escape on the contents of that bag. Ryan's bugout bag contained a change of clothes. The clothes included a hoodie because a person bugging out may need to disguise or alter their appearance. So it may contain a ball cap, sunglasses, hat, or other items to make the person harder to recognize.

Other items in Ryan's bugout bag likely included a first aid kit, one or more guns, and some cash for him to live on short term.

If you are interested in the subject, there are a blue million videos on YouTube about bugout and bugout bags. Most are aimed at survivalist types who seem to be gearing up for the end of the world. But even if you are not a survivalist or a spy, you may one day need to bug out yourself. Natural disasters such as hurricanes and wildfires can force you to pack up and leave in a hurry. I may return to this subject later.

As to how Theo survived, I offer two possible explanations. 1.) Theo carjacked someone who was not immediately missed. Perhaps a person who was not supposed to be in the area because they were doing something they weren't supposed to, or someone who had no family and few friends. 2.) Handwavium You could simply conclude that Theo is a monster, a bit like Jason Voorhees or Michael Myers, or that he's an evil genius. Or a supervillain. By definition, they can do anything.

Regarding Ryan's activities post bugout, my account is full of gaps and deliberately vague in many spots. The full tale of his adventures could be a fic (Or a season of the Following!) in itself. Obviously I take for granted that Ryan had to be involved in a lot of criminal activities in order to finance his one man war. He could hardly have held down a regular job. Presumably the people he robbed had it coming. (Drug dealers, gun runners, and such) Without Mike and Max his support team (And he would have needed one) was essentially criminal and/or vigilante in nature. I have kept details of all of this down to the minimum necessary for the purposes of writing Terudom.

**** Videos on how escape from zip ties can be seen on YouTube. ITS Tactical has one, and there are many others besides.

The zip ties you buy at the hardware store can be broken if they are tight enough. If they aren't tight enough, you'll have to tighten them with your teeth. If your hands are tied behind you, you'll have to pass your wrists over your ankles and get them in front of you in order to tighten them. The mistake that Derek was aware of was that they were using hardware store zip ties because of the sound (The kind used by the police and the military to restrain prisoners are smooth and make less noise) and they had put them on too tightly to be secure.

Zip ties made for human restraint are wider, have a much larger and heavier buckle, and come with a metal hook that keeps them from being overtightened. See the Sacrifice episode in Season 2. The zip ties that the Huntsman used on Max were the right kind, but of course he made other mistakes.

Eliza's Lies

Eliza lied. Try saying that five times, really fast. Regarding Eliza's activities and motives, I have again skated close to going AU, but I don't think I've quite crossed the line. I said long ago that Derek (And maybe I'm on a first name basis with him as I've become more comfortable with him) exists so that Eliza can function as a character. I've also used him to build her up a bit as a character, or at least I hope I have. Someone, somewhere, in a review, said that she was just a Madam. I think that's a bit unfair, but given that House scene in Demons I can see why they might have said it. My intent with Derek's search for the truth has partly been to build her up as the manipulator and schemer that I think the showrunners always meant for her to be, not to go AU.

That Shootout

The area where Ryan shot it out with Eliza and her goons is real. I have changed certain details, including street names, but I picked it out from Bing maps. No, I won't tell you exactly where it is.


	11. Ch 11- We're Not In The Bureau Anymore

Disclaimer: It's fanfic, meaning I don't own anything or make any money off of it. It's a labor of love. Please don't sue me.

Apart from some language, I don't think there's much in this chapter that wouldn't pass muster on an episode of The Following. If you're old enough to watch The Following, you're old enough to read this. We're sticking with the T rating, but dark theme warnings remain in effect.

My thanks to Stunspored for continued support, feedback, constructive criticism, and for permission to use the phrase "full Ryan". Thank you for everything. Terudom would be a lesser story without you.

Speaking of feedback, it's always welcome whether it's positive or negative. So if you have questions, comments, or criticism, fire away.

This chapter was originally going to be longer, but I've got some Holiday preparations to make and other real world commitments, so I probably won't be able to write any more until after Thanksgiving. We'll pick back up then.

Chapter 11 - We're Not In The Bureau Anymore

Gwen sat on the couch, Ryan Junior cradled in her arms. Of course Ryan Hardy Junior wasn't on the birth certificate, since she and Ryan had never been married. She wasn't really sure they ever would have been. Perhaps Ryan would have kept slipping further away had he lived, but she wanted and needed to believe that he would have somehow turned things round. She never had doubted his love, though she had, to the end, maintained doubts that he had it in him to help raise a child. She told Max and Mike that she had chosen the name Ryan for her son not long after his father had been declared dead. It seemed fitting at the time. Ryan had been protecting her and their child with his last breath. It seemed even more fitting after he was born, when she saw he had his father's eyes.

She thought back to the day he was born. Mike, still not fit for full duty, had left his desk and rushed to the hospital. Max was in the field, working a horrific kidnap murder case upstate, cursing her luck at missing the birth. As soon as the maniac she was hunting was in custody, she had come to the hospital, cold, tired, and excited, still in her raid jacket and jeans spattered with mud from a manhunt through the woods. Her first words, on entering the hospital room had been "Is this Ryan Junior?"

Her phone, lying on the lamp table at the end of the couch, began to vibrate. She looked at the display. It was Max. She gently put Ryan back in his crib, and picked up the phone. "Hi!" she said. "How's North Carolina?"

"It's nice," Max replied. "Warmer than New York, anyway. How are you? Is everything OK?"

"Yeah," Gwen said. "Why wouldn't it be?"

"No reason. I just had a few seconds free, and I wanted to check in. Listen, be really careful, Ok?"

"Sure. Max are you Ok? You sound a little off. Is something wrong?"

"No, everything's fine," Max replied. "I'm just tired. I didn't get much sleep. How's Ryan Junior?"

"He's fine. Hurry home. We both love it when you visit. In fact, I'd like to have the two of you over for dinner again."

"That sounds good," Max replied. "As soon as we finish here, we'll plan something. I just don't know how long it'll take. But yeah, I do want us to get together. Give Ryan Junior a kiss for me. Listen, I have to go. Work."

"OK," Gwen said. "Love to Mike"

II

Max pocketed her phone as the sheriff's deputy walked up. "We got a call from the sheriff," he said. "They found another one."

"Another one?" Mike asked.

"Another multiple murder," the deputy replied. There's two dead outside the house. And inside is a God damn slaughterhouse. Body parts. People cut up. Like some kind of cult. And there's brains."

III

They sped towards the address the deputy had given them. They were alone in their car, and thankful for the privacy.

"You said something about stepping into the Twilight Zone," said Max.

"Submitted for your approval," Mike replied. "What the hell are we gonna do?"

"I don't know," she said. "But I know this. We're not in the Bureau any more. Not now. We've been betrayed. There's no calling for backup now. There's no backup to call for. We're it. You and me. And Ryan, if we can contact him."

"There's gotta be someone we can trust," Mike said. "What if we went to Shelby?"

"Even if we do, even if he can be trusted," she said, "he'd have to go to someone. If he goes to the wrong person..."

"What if we went to the Director?" he asked. "Could we get to Franklin?"

"The problem is that whoever we go to, we have no proof, and no hard evidence on Galen. No matter which way we turn, Eliza will find out as soon as we try to tell anyone, and that's all she wrote." She stared glumly at the road ahead. "We were so close. And I thought, maybe this is finally it. I can have my family back together. I can bring him home."

"What if we can't bring him home?" Mike asked. "What if we have to bring him in?"

She looked at him in open mouthed horror. "No," she said. "We can't"

"Hear me out," Mike said. "Unless we can prove that this organization is real, they've got every incentive to kill all of us. But if we bring in proof, then killing us wouldn't help them. Ryan has to know a lot about them by now. If we brought him in, if he talked..."

"Ryan covered for you! I covered for you! How can you even think about this?"

"You saw what they did to Ranson. What if that was Gwen?"

"He's got that flash drive," she said.

"Right. He's got it. We don't. And what if you can't break the encryption? Ryan made his choice. I know he covered for me. I know you did. Which is why this sucks. But he had a choice, and so did you. Gwen never got a choice, and neither did Ryan Junior. Look, I'm not going to do anything yet. It's a decision we have to make together. But I'm still waiting to hear your better idea."

"I don't have one," she said. "But I'm starting to understand how he felt."

"Is that why you say we're not in the Bureau anymore?"

She thought for a moment. "I'm not going full Ryan," she said. "I can't. We can't. We have people we're responsible to. People we're responsible for. We're not vigilantes. I know what it feels like now, when you don't know how to protect the people you love. When it seems like there won't ever be an end to it. But just because I know what he felt doesn't mean I'm going where he went."

"So what do we do?" Mike asked.

"Like you said, one step at a time. We start with this flash drive. There's got to be something there we can use. We get some burners. We call that number, and we set up a meet. And even if we don't go full Ryan, the fact is we're both of us dark side as of now whether we like it or not. Because they made that choice for us. And they have started a war with the wrong family."

"We're here," Mike said.

Ahead was the array of flashing lights and emergency vehicles, parked in the open grassy area in front of a frame house with an outside storage building and garage, and a dilapidated unpainted barn. They parked, got out, and walked under the yellow police tape to the two bodies lying in the driveway, covered with sheets. They were met by a paunchy man in his mid fifties, with a gray moustache, wearing a khaki uniform with five star General's insignia pinned to the collar.

"I'm Sheriff Hester," five star said.

"Weston and Hardy, FBI", Mike said. "What happened?"

"The neighbors heard shots last night. No one thought much of it at the time, it's not all that unusual around here. But this morning, these bodies were lying out here in the open. That one has his elbow broken, and his nose. The other one has what looks like a crushed larynx. Both were finished off with a nine. But not the same nine. There's two different brands of ammo here. These," he said, pointing to the spent cartridge cases lying near the young man Derek had killed, "are Cor-Bon. Over there, near the storage building, those are Magtech. So I think it was two shooters with two different guns. But we haven't recovered either weapon yet."

"What's this?" Mike asked, pointing at the broken zip ties on the ground. "Looks like they took someone who got loose. And they took the wrong person."

"A martial arts expert, maybe?" Max asked. "And whoever they took never called this in?"

"Unless he's one of the victims inside," the sheriff said. "And if he is, it'll be hard to identify what's left of him. I'll show you."

IV

Derek came awake slowly, lying on his side, staring at chocolate brown curtains behind two white upholstered chairs on either side of a lamp table. This wasn't the hotel room he had checked into yesterday.

 _Because this is the hotel room that Eliza checked us into last night._

He rolled onto his back and took stock of his surroundings. The window on his right was covered by heavy brown curtains. He could see what looked like a dining room table through the door facing the foot of the bed. To his left was another door that was closed. It all looked...expensive. Eliza could clearly afford much better accommodations than he could.

He remembered now. Roadside surgery, without morphine, and Eliza grinning from ear to ear at his pain. Eliza giving Stinnes and Kaminsky orders to collect his things and the rental car. The drive to her hotel in the Audi while he smoked a cigarette, surprised that she let him smoke in the car. Walking through the lobby in a jacket borrowed from one of her guys to cover his torn and bloody shirt. Falling asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow despite the soreness from his wound. He looked down at the black line of stitches. He had to admit that she did nice work. Better than some work he'd seen over in the Sandbox.

The door to his left opened, and Eliza stepped out, wearing a green silk kimono, barefoot, her hair damp. "Good morning," she said. "Welcome back among the living."

He regarded her appreciatively. "Somehow, I don't think guys who disobey your orders usually get this kind of treatment."

"They don't," she replied. She saw him looking at her and said "I was out in the cold most of the night on an ambush, so I took a hot bath. You might consider doing the same, although I'd keep those stitches dry. You want some breakfast? You look like you could use it."

"I could eat," Derek said.

V

They sat at the dining room table in the living area of the hotel room. Derek had ordered sausage with fresh biscuits and gravy. Eliza had an omelette with strawberries. Derek surveyed the room. There was a gas log fireplace, surrounded by marble, and above it a big screen TV. The bar was topped with granite. . "You travel first class," he said.

"I've earned it," she replied. "They call this the Magi suite."

"By the way, thank you," said Derek. "For sewing me up. And for not killing my ass."

"So how long have you known?" she asked. "About Theo, I mean"

"I didn't really know until I met him. I suspected for a long time. I said in your office that you were off the books."

"I thought you were drunk," Eliza said.

"I was. That didn't make me wrong."

"And you never ratted me out" she said. " And you came all this way...why? Because you thought I needed backup? Because you wanted to impress me? Or because you're attracted to me?"

"Yes. And because I really was worried about what happens to me if anything happens to you. As for off the books, it's where I've mostly lived. We've got that in common, at least."

"How did you come to work for me?", she asked. "You've never seemed the type."

"Our mutual friend introduced us, remember?"

"I mean how did you ever go so far off the books, as you put it, that you ended up here?"

"I'm sure you've read the file," Derek replied.

"I have," Eliza said. "But the file is not the person. I know the official version. I'd like to hear yours."

He took a sip of his coffee, and looked at her. He might have been wondering if he should answer, or what she looked like under her kimono.

"The first thing you should understand is that early on I lost all respect for the people in charge. They took us into a war, they didn't know how to win it, and they didn't understand the country or the people. They knew contracts. They knew oil contracts, and security contracts, and construction contracts. But when it came to fighting a war, especially that kind of war, they didn't have a plan and they didn't have a clue. "

" So I went rogue. I had my crew. I recruited them myself. They were locals, and they weren't nice guys. They were tribal types, guys looking for a paycheck, or looking for payback, cutthroats, hustlers, and lunatics, but they were good. We were damn good. And we played a good game. We accounted for a lot of high value targets. I did unauthorized killings, from early on. The first one was a double agent. And then there was a guy providing explosive penetrators to AQ that could punch holes in our armored vehicles. And there were others. I had a don't ask don't tell kind of relationship with headquarters. I didn't tell and they didn't ask."

"Most people don't know this, but terrorists get paid. Not a lot, by our standards, but they get paid. They've got expenses. They've got to eat like the rest of us. Now, if they wanted to plant a bomb, they had contractors just like we did. There would be a guy in charge of a cell, and he would collect the money that someone paid him for the job, and he would pay his guys. There would be a recruiter, who would find the suicide bomber. Not all of those suicide jockeys were volunteers. We found a guy one time with Down's syndrome. They used him to drive a car bomb. They duct taped his hands to the steering wheel. There were handlers who got the bomber to the target, and saw too it that he didn't chicken out. There was the guy who wired the bomb. There was an audiovisual guy who took video of the bombing and put it out on the net for recruiting and propaganda, and to advertise for more business. And there was the money guy who paid for it all."

"Most of these guys were just mooks and not worth going after. My job was to hunt down and kill the guys with actual technical skills, especially the bombmakers. Not many guys know how to wire a bomb. Sometimes we could get the recruiters. The money guys were usually on the wrong side of a border, or they had political protection, and mostly we couldn't touch them."

"But there was this guy who ran a bombing cell. He was really into video games, so we called him Abu X-Box. Someone took out a contract on me. I had a rep by then. He gave the job to Abu X-Box, who proceeded to wire a twelve year old kid up with a suicide vest. He missed me, but he took out two of my guys. Turned them to pink mist, and I was lying on the ground with little bits of my guys and that kid all over me. I still have ringing in my left ear from that. I went after the assholes who did it. I killed the bombmaker, and the recruiter, and several of the mooks, and I took Abu X-Box. Alive. I wanted the money guy. They had issued a directive by that time. No more waterboarding. So I wired his balls up to a telephone magneto instead."

The money for this job came from some Saudi kid. He was 25. His Daddy was someone in the oil ministry. The kid thought he was Osama Bin Laden 2.0, and he figured he'd make his bones by having me wasted. I wanted to go after him, but they said no. I got called in and got a talking to from some desk jockey who had never been in the field a day in her life. She told me that there were sensitive political considerations involved, that we had a vital strategic partnership to maintain, and that policy was decided at the highest levels. She told me that there were oil contracts at stake, that we were trying to sell them Block 50 F-16s, and she told me that we had to espouse the pragmatic view. I told her I was down to my last fuck, and I wasn't about to give it over any of that shit."

Eliza stopped her forkful of omelette halfway to her mouth and grinned. . "That wasn't in the file."

"I didn't think it was. Anyway, me and a couple of my crew tracked the kid to Dubai, and that's where we killed him."

"How did you kill him?" she asked.

"Well, normally I was very neat and professional. But in this case, I decided pink mist for pink mist. So we drove him out in the desert. I took a block of C-4, shaped it into something suitably phallic, and shoved it up his ass with a remote detonator. We drove to a safe distance, and I hit the switch."

"That," she said, laughing, "wasn't in the file either."

"You know, that's the first time I've ever heard you laugh. Anyway, to wrap things up, I didn't cover my tracks good enough. They said something about PTSD, and maybe some brain trauma from that bomb blast, and I had been out there too long, and I should take a desk job at Langley. So they gave me my one way."

"One way?" she asked.

"Agency expression. One way ticket home. It means you're done in the field. But somehow it leaked to the Saudis that I was behind that hit, and they were demanding my head. There was talk of a murder rap, but they didn't dare put me on trial. I was a serious embarrassment. Any discussion of what to do with me would end with the words 'extreme prejudice'. So I slipped away on a phoney Swiss passport and went independent. Big Daddy Oil Sheik sent some guys to look for me, but they're all dead. About three years went by, and I was contacted by our mutual friend. He said he had a job for me. He said if I took it, he could get the Agency to let bygones be bygones. I could come home, and I'd be well paid. The catch was I had to not care. I said 'Dude, I'm already there'. So he set up a meet, and he introduced me to you. And that's the first time I've ever told that whole story to anyone."

She smiled, and leaned forward in her seat. "Thank you for telling it to me. I think I understand you better now."

"What do you understand?"

"That I've misjudged you. That under it all, you're a disappointed romantic. That you're disillusioned because they didn't appreciate you the way I do. That you thrill in hunting an adversary who can hunt you back. It would have been fascinating to know what Doctor Strauss would have made of you. You might have been his masterpiece."

"I can't see myself as one of Strauss' kids," Derek said

"I can," Eliza replied. "You're afraid to say it, but you think that I kill because there's something wrong with me, and you think there's something wrong with you because you spent so much time killing. But we're both of us killers, and more alike than you realize. I need you to see that because I need your help. I'm under siege on all sides. Between Ryan Hardy, and Theo, and Sarah, I'm facing the loss of everything I've built. And I have dreams. I told you I was Strauss' most ambitious student. The Organization can be far more than what it is, and I'm the person to take it there. With your help."

"Explain"

"We supply our people with victims, cover, and protection. We have connected, influential people who help with that. We have tremendous access to the government's records and personnel database. This means we can compromise people. We know who can be gotten to, and how to get to them. And the House, besides just being a playground for our members, can be a place where carefully selected nonmembers can be compromised, and brought under control. We can use this to protect the Organization, but also we can buy and sell information, influence, and even people. But I've got to shut down Ryan Hardy, and I've got to shut down Theo."

He looked at her thoughtfully. "There's a fine line between ambitious and crazy. I read a lot of history, and I can name several people who crossed it. But let's focus on the immediate problems, starting with Ryan Hardy. You plan to take his niece. Using your contingency plan, I assume."

"Exactly," Eliza said. "I always think several moves ahead. Ryan Hardy went off a bridge, but no body was ever found. So immediately I started making plans in case he was alive. I'll admit that I didn't think he'd declare a one man war. I thought maybe he'd contact someone. Mike Weston was in ICU, and for all we knew he might never return to work, even if he lived. So by default, that left Max Hardy. She might work with Ryan secretly, as she did before. So I zeroed in on her."

"Now, the kidnap or murder of a Federal agent would be extensively investigated. But what if we framed her? At the least, we could get her fired, maybe sent to prison. That would certainly deprive her uncle of her help. But what if we framed her as a mole, working for some powerful, well funded, and secretive group? Perhaps a group capable of springing her from prison?"

" I had a bank account in the Cayman Islands opened in the name of Max Hardy before Ryan had time to change into dry jockey shorts. I've made regular deposits since, and it's now up to two and half million dollars. The killing of Gavin Leach was opportunistic. We framed him as a hacker so that we could frame Max Hardy for killing him. Her phone is tapped, so we knew when she'd be keeping Ryan and Gwen's little brat. The killing took place in a poorly lit parking lot at night. What did the witnesses see? The killer was White, female, brunette, twenties, and they aren't sure how long the hair was because mine was pinned up under a baseball cap. I'm five seven, Max is five eight, so the description will match closely enough. I killed him with a Glock like the one Max carries, but I used a replacement barrel threaded for a silencer. You'll plant the replacement barrel and silencer in her car. The barrel of a Glock can be swapped out in seconds without tools. Galen made sure that Max knew Gavin Leach was a person of interest, and he'll "discover" that bank account as soon as I order him to do so. A search will then find her in possession of the murder weapon. And then she's mine."

"One of our people on the inside will produce an executive order that whereas Max Hardy is now considered a highly dangerous threat to national security, she is to be moved, on apprehension, to a secure black site. The place is code named Site M. Once she's there, one of my teams will pick her up and move her to Fairfax International, and I'll have a hostage to use against Ryan. She'll undergo an intensive interrogation. I don't believe for a moment that she and Weston have reported everything they've learned to the task force."

"Gwen Carter is a much simpler proposition. Her abduction will not be considered unusual since Ryan Hardy is officially dead. If she has to be killed, then the motive for her murder can easily be disguised. I'll simply have her raped." Seeing his expression she added "Oh don't worry, I won't ask you to do it. I have guys on the payroll willing to do that sort of thing."

"And Weston?" he asked.

"He wouldn't have made a very convincing threat to national security while he was in the hospital. I can't move against him directly, since taking both him and Max would arouse suspicion. But with Max clearly a turncoat, he'll be suspended. And I may end up with him eventually as well. With the woman he loves in my hands, I expect him to do something brave, stupid, or simply pointless. In which case, I get to decide who I want to kill in front of whom."

"And Theo?"

"You found him before. You'll find him again, and kill him for me."

"He has followers, you know," Derek said

"You killed someone's followers. Perhaps not Theo's. I'm not sure he told you the truth. I think he's working with someone, but I don't know who. I think it might even be Sarah. I think she actually hates me that much. But whoever's working with him, or following him, I'm sure you're more than equal to the task."

"I never thought I'd say this," he said, "but there are times when I think that if we'd had you in command, we might have won that God damn war."

"I never would have fought it," she said. She finished off her coffee, rose and walked around to his side of the table. "Stand up," she said. I want to check those stitches." She pulled his robe aside and ran her finger gently along the line of stitches. He exhaled sharply. " "You're ticklish," she said, smiling.

"If I'm going to plant that barrel, then it would be better to get back to New York ahead of Weston and Hardy," he said, ignoring her statement.

"They're detained, she said. "Investigating the dead bodies you left behind."

He took his left hand, and lifted her chin gently, looking into her eyes. He caressed her cheek with his hand. "So we have some time to kill," he said.

"We do."

He leaned in for a kiss, running his left hand through he hair, and tugging ever so slightly. As he pulled away, bit her lower lip gently. "You know," he said, "This is all starting to seem just a little bit dangerous."

"You mean my plan, you going along with it, or where your right hand is?"

"Yes"

VI

The front of the house had two bay windows that would have given a lovely view of the tall cedar trees lining the road if they hadn't been covered over with heavy blackout curtains like every other window on the house. Either the residents were light sleepers or they liked their privacy.

The wooden porch was painted gray, its boards warped, and likely rotted in spots. The button was out of the doorbell, with bare wires hanging from an empty socket. Small window panes on either side of the door were covered over with what looked like pieces of cut up window shade held in place with masking tape. Inside was a living room on their right with threadbare green carpet, furniture that might have been salvaged from a dump, and a TV. To the left was a dining room with a kitchen table covered with dirty plates, empty glasses a the bare wood floor covered with stains and crumbs. The place smelled of dust, spoiled food, and a slight smell of formaldehyde.

"Who owns this place?" Mike asked.

"I'm not sure who owns it now," the Sheriff said. It did belong to guy named Cameron. He died last year, and it was sold it a couple of months back as part of the estate. I'm not sure who bought it. Right now there's a guy named Wayne Jarrett who lives here. He's not local, he moved here, and he has a record. Drunk and disorderly, nothing violent or serious. I don't know where he is right now." He started down the hall in front of them. "This way," he said.

In the back of the house was a bedroom that stank of sheets that had not been washed in living memory, a cluttered kitchen, and nook for a computer, and a bookshelf. Mike glanced at the bookshelf, and noticed that a lot of the books were on occult topics. There were two different books called Necrnomicon, one a small mass market paperback, the other a trade paperback. There was a massive hardcover of the collected works of H P Lovecraft, and next to it a trade paperback book called _The Occult Philosophy Of H P Lovecraft_. Another trade paperback was _The Magickal System_ _Of The Necronomicon_.

"These people were freaks," Hester said. "You should see downstairs. "

The computer desk was placed facing one of the curtain covered windows. Behind it, a door opened on wooden stairs leading to the basement. Sheriff Hester led, the way, with Mike behind him and Max bringing up the rear.

In the center of the room was a heavy wooden work table covered with dried blood stains. There was a smaller table next to it with a tray of bloody surgical instruments, including a bone saw. There were shelves on the back wall. One of these held four large jars, in which floated organs.

Against the wall behind the stairs was a large chest style freezer, its door open. Adjacent to the wall with the shelves the cinder block had been painted black and covered with unfamiliar occult symbols in red and white. Against another wall was a large standing tool cabinet. Next to it, sickles, knives, axes, and other edged weapons and tools. hung from hooks.

"Brains?" Mike asked.

"Yeah," Hester said. These jars contain what look like drugs, chemicals, herbs...we haven't tested any of it yet so some of it could be illegal drugs. There's organs in some of the smaller jars too. And that freezer over there...", he pointed at the wall, "Christ almighty."

They walked over to the freezer. . It's door was open. Inside was the body of a man dressed in jeans and an insulated long sleeve T shirt. There was a bloody line of stitches across his forehead that extended the whole circumference of his head. They looked at each other with a mix of horror and astonishment. "Shiny?" Mike asked. Max nodded wordlessly.

"What's Shiny?" Hester asked.

"We've seen this MO before," Mike said. "But it was in New York. Either there's more of these people, or these guys got around."

"Some kind of cult, then," the Sheriff replied.

"Looks like it," said Mike. "What's that?" He pointed at the wall covered with symbols. In the center of it, the light from the incandescent bulbs in the ceiling reflected off of something that looked like smooth, darkly tinted glass. Mike waled up to it, and saw that in the center of the wall was a circular pane of dark glass about two feet in diameter like a mirror, held in a round wooden frame painted black. Red symbols were painted around the edge of the wooden frame.

He turned to Max. "Did you see the bookshelf upstairs?" he asked. "A lot of occult stuff. A lot of stuff about Lovecraft."

"Dennis said that there were creatures in Lovecraft who removed brains," she said. "He also said that Mister Shiny was the name of a monster from the Cthulu Mythos. So Shiny has a North Carolina end, and another end in New York." She turned to the Sheriff. "This Wayne Jarrett guy, was he into computers at all? Was he a hacker?"

"I don't know," Hester replied "I kind of doubt it. Jarrett didn't really seem smart enough."

"That Portland computer was hacked from public access wifi in a coffee shop downtown," she said to Mike. If none of the dead guys here was a hacker, and Wayne Jarrett, wherever he is, wasn't a hacker either, then there's at least one more person we haven't found. These were someone's followers. Maybe whoever is behind Shiny."

"Obviously I'm coming in late here," Hester said. "What the hell is Shiny?"

"A computer worm, " Max replied. 'A cyberweapon. Maybe launched by someone in your town. We've got to start finding out who those dead guys were, and where they came from, and we've got to find Wayne Jarrett."

VII

Derek stood in front of the dressing room mirror He almost felt human again. After his brush with death, everything was better. The breakfast tasted better than any food he'd ever had. The jetted tub, the hot shave had been especially luxurious. And sex with Eliza...

 _Was it that good because you nearly died last night, or because she's just that smoking hot?_

 _Yes_.

But was this really a good idea? Probably not. He thought back on his earlier conversation with Zack. _It's beautiful, but it's still a snake._ He remembered Eliza's answer when he asked, half facetiously, if Strauss had grown accustomed to her face. _I doubt he was capable of the emotion._ That answer, he decided, was true enough. And he doubted she was capable of the emotion either. OK, he thought. So she's using you. And you enjoyed being used. But no way does this end well.

Was he really like her? Maybe a little bit. Maybe more than a little bit. He was an accomplished killer, anyway. He'd better be, considering how much practice he'd had and the circles he was moving in. She needed him to track down and kill Theo, and to deliver Max Hardy. If he succeeded, he somehow doubted that they'd have a happily ever after. She'd said it herself. He possessed information that could lead to her death. Which meant that he possessed information that could lead to his. So what was he going to do?

 _They told me I had to not care. And I don't anymore._ She was right that he probably wasn't the type who usually worked for her. He told himself when he joined the Agency that it was the good guys against the bad guys, and he'd never work for the bad guys. But here he was. He would never have believed it of himself. And then again, he would never have believed it of the people he worked for, either.

So here he was, and he had to be somewhere, and the Organization was a damn good gig, and probably his last chance. He'd enjoy it while he could. He'd enjoy her while he could. The ride would end, because it always did. A breakup with her was likely to be messier than most. He accepted the fact that at some point he might be sold out. It wasn't like that hadn't happened before. He'd help her, because there was no going back to the life he'd had or the person he'd been.

As he finished buttoning his shirt, Eliza stepped into the dressing room wearing a black sheath dress with long sleeves. "I just got off the phone with the Chairman. I'm expected at a meeting at the House with the Committee. So here's the plan. There's a plane waiting for us in Winston. We'll fly out, and land at Leesburg airport. There'll be a car waiting to take me to that meeting. You'll go on to New York, pick up that barrel and silencer at Fairfax International and plant them before Weston and Hardy get back. Stinnes and Kaminsky will deal with the vehicles. They'll return the rental cars and drive the van back to the ZR facility in Virginia. I'll send a plane for them once that's done. You call me as soon as that murder weapon is planted, and then I'll tell Galen to discover that bank account."

"You got it, Boss Lady."

"You can call me Eliza, you know."

"OK," he said. "Eliza. I'll take care of it."

"Good," she said. She looked at him as if deciding whether sparing his life had been a mistake. "You almost seem to be having second thoughts," she said.

"No," he replied, "it's just that when I started out from New York, the last thing I expected was to end up here. But then that's been the story of my life."

VIII

They stood in the driveway where the shooting had taken place. Sheriff Hester was supervising the removal of the body from the basement. Mike was looking intently at the spent brass lying on the ground.

"What are you thinking?" asked Max.

"Two guns, two shooters," Mike replied. "They took someone last night. They tied him up with zip ties. They put him in a vehicle. They drove him here. He broke the zip ties. He grabbed a gun from one of the guys who took him. One of the guys who took him got a gun out, and they shot it out. Now over here, near the zip ties, was someone shooting Cor-Bon ammo. That's probably the guy they took. Over there, by the storage building, was whoever was shooting Magtech ammo."

"The guy shooting Cor-Bon drove off in the vehicle they brought him in, and he took his gun with him. So if we don't see the other gun..."

"Then maybe the other shooter left on foot," Max finished.

"Right. Now if you were standing over there by the building, and there was a guy standing here in the driveway, and you needed to make a run for it, which way would you go?"

"Towards those woods," Max said, pointing.

They looked at each other for a moment, and began walking towards the woods, looking carefully at the ground as they went. Suddenly Max stopped and pointed. 'Look at that," she said, pointing at bloodstain on the grass. They quickened their pace, approaching the treeline. Mike noticed another bloodstain near the edge of the woods, stopped, and turned towards the house. "Hey!" he shouted at a deputy near the storage building. "We got a blood trail!"

VII

They moved through the woods, with guns drawn. They could see two other deputies about ten yards away on their right. One of them had a shotgun, the other a drawn pistol. On their left they could hear but not see the Sheriff and two other deputies , obscured by a tangle of dense growth. The Sheriff had called for a K9 unit, nut it was twenty minutes away. Hester had wanted to wait for the dogs, but Mike had told him that valuable witness might be bleeding to death, and he and Max were damn well going, backup or no. Mike held up his hand suddenly, motioning for Max to stop. She did do, a puzzled expression on her face. "You hear that?" Mike asked. "Sounds like a waterfall."

She nodded wordlessly, and then they started forward again. They trees ahead thinned out, and they could see a brick building in front of them, two stories, its windows all knocked out and the area around it overgrown. . The source of the waterfall sound was now visible. A broad creek ran through the woods. The waterfall was actually water rushing over a dam, and the brick building, which they could now see clearly was on the near side of the creek, was some sort of abandoned mill.

The deputies on their flanks began to emerge from the woods. "That's Dorsey's Mill," Sheriff Hester said to them, pointing. " It hasn't been used for years. There's a dirt road on the other side of the building."

Mike reached into his jacket pocket for his LED light. Max did the same. "Let's go," he said.

They entered through a wide double door that was ajar, the lock broken long ago by vandals. Inside, there were rusted machines with exposed belts that wrapped around large, spoked metal wheels. Mike turned to the Sheriff. "You three," he said, indicating the sheriff and the two deputies who had been with him, "check upstairs." He pointed at the other two deputies. "The two of you, check that end of the building, through those doors. Max and I will check this other side."

They split up, and Mike found himself walking slowly past a rusted machine and towards an open door that led towards what looked like it might have been an office. Max was close behind.

Mike stopped abruptly, and hunched down, his left arm coming off the butt of his Glock and sweeping back over his head. "Crap," he said. "Spider web. I hate spiders." Max silently nodded agreement, and they moved towards the door. Mike peered cautiously into the room, and saw a man sitting, propped against the wall. His eyes were closed and his head was slumped forward, as though he were asleep. But Mike saw blood pooled beneath him, and was sure he was dead. A phone lay beside him, as well as a small stainless semiautomatic He looked at Max, and held his left hand up, index finger in front of his face. He slipped quietly into the room and holstered his pistol. He took out a pair of nitrile gloves and a clear plastic evidence bag. He put the phone into the bag, zipped it closed, and stuffed it into his jacket pocket. He looked at Max. "We're not in the Bureau anymore," he said quietly.

Max stepped outside the room and shouted for the Sheriff. "Over here!" she said. "There's a body!"

VIII

A search of the mill yielded up nothing further. They stood at the side of the dirt road that led to it, watching the ambulance take Wayne Jarrett's body away. He had bled to death hours earlier. Max took out her phone. "Who are you calling?" Mike asked.

"Gwen. I want to check on her."

"You better not," Mike said. "I know you're worried sick. I am too. But right now we can't be there for her, and if we keep calling to check on her, we'll scare her. Plus, if they have our phones tapped, we might tip them off. We don't want them knowing that we suspect something."

She stared at her phone for a second and then put it back in her pocket. "You're right," she said.

"As soon as we wrap things up here, we'll get some burner phones," he said.

She nodded wordlessly. Sheriff Hester, who had been talking to a deputy nearby, came walking towards them. "I can give you a ride back to your car," he said.

"Thanks," Max replied.

What I don't understand," said the Sheriff, "is why he came all the way down here. I can understand that he was trying to get away from whoever shot him, but it seems like a long way to go just to bleed to death."

"I don't understand it either," she said. "But I want to start looking into the background of all three of these guys. We need to know where they've been, and whether they were involved in the killing we investigated in New York. And we need to start looking at missing person's reports, and trying to identify the victims, or what's left of them."

"We better get back to the crime scene," Mike said. "There's still a lot to do."

IX

Derek pulled into the garage at Fairfax International, killed the engine on his Acura, and got out. As the roll up door he had driven in through slid down, he walked through the double door at the back of the room. As he did, he saw Zack Coleman emerging from the server room to his left.

"Welcome back," Coleman said.

"What are you doing here?" Derek asked. "I didn't know you ever made it out to this place.."

"Sometimes I do. There's not a lot of people cleared to work on the systems here. If I get put in charge at RCS, they'll have to find someone else to take over some of this."

"Next time I see the Boss lady I'll tell her you're overworked."

"Yeah, I'm sure that'll help," Coleman said. "Did you get absolution?"

"I'm still breathing," Derek said. "So I guess I did."

"So how was your trip?"

"Full of surprises. Not much that I can talk about, and right now I've got another job. I'm just here because I have to pick up some equipment. . Maybe we can have drinks or something later."

"Sure," Coleman said. "Give me a call."

X

There was a room in the House just down the hall from the office Eliza used when she was there. It had been a library long ago, when the House was built. Now it served as a conference room. To thee extent that the Organization had a central nerve center, this was it. The Committee, the Organization's governing body, met here. Meetings did not occur on any regular schedule. The members met when there was something to discuss. Today there was something to discuss.

They had sent a Mercedes E Class to meet Eliza at Leesburg Executive Airport. At the House, she had her bags taken to the guest bedroom adjacent to her office, and she went straight to the conference room. In the center of the room was a darkly finished octagonal wooden table. The Committee had eight members, and they sat at an eight sided table. In theory all of the members were equal, and sitting at an eight sided table was supposed to emphasize this. In reality, the Chairman was the most equal, since his job gave him access to classified information as well as defense and intelligence resources. The Organization could not function day to day without the access and cover he could provide. So his word counted for a lot.

There were, counting the Chairman, five men and two women sitting at the table. One chair was vacant. That chair was for Eliza. She sat down, noting that Sarah Marloth occupied one of the chairs. She strongly objected to Sarah's presence, but for the moment held her tongue. At meetings of the Committee, the Chairman always spoke first.

'We will come to order," he said. "Our first order of business will be Eliza's report on the progress she has made in dealing with our unknown assassin."

"I was not given a chance to cast a vote on Adrian's replacement," Eliza said.

"The decision to seat Sarah was unanimous," the Chairman replied. "I'm aware that the two of you have differences, but this saves time. I'm sure that you will be able to work together in spite of any past disagreements you have had."

"Yes sir," Eliza said. "I've just returned from the field. I now have definite proof that Ryan Hardy is alive, and responsible for the recent murders of some of our senior members. I have positive proof that he faked his death. And I want to assure everyone that very soon he will dead in reality."

XI

They were driving from the Jarrett house to the Sheriff's office at Beaumont. Once again, being in a car gave them some privacy. Mike, who was driving, handed the phone they had found over to Max. "Here," he said. "Let's see who he was trying to call."

"With our luck, she said, "probably a burner." Her finger flew across the screen. "You ready for this?" she asked. "Zack Coleman. He's got to be the other end of Shiny."

"OK," Mike said. "So he was wounded. He needed attention. But shots had been fired and there were dead bodies to explain. So he called Coleman, but Coleman is in New York."

"Right," she said. "So he was calling for help. From someone local he couldn't contact directly. So he called Coleman and asked him to relay a message and send help. But help never arrived. Either whoever he was expecting couldn't get there in time, or they just hung him out to dry."

"So whose followers were these?" Mike asked. "Coleman's? Our local mystery guy? And who killed them?"

"I don't know," said Max. "But we can't go to Galen with this. He's a mole. But so is Zack Coleman. He's selling the Organization out. But who's he working for? If we take this to Galen, then we're doing the Organization's work for them."

"And if we don't take it to someone, we're never going to get anywhere."

"And if we do take it to someone, " Max replied, "then Eliza finds out, and Coleman is dead, and we get nothing." She sat in silence for a moment. "So we flip him."

"Flip him?"

"Yeah. If he was involved in Jason Rickard's death, then he's double crossing Eliza. You said it yourself, we need proof. So he either helps us get it, or we threaten to feed him to Eliza."

Mike took his eyes off the road for a moment to look at her. "I thought you said we weren't going full Ryan," he said.

"This is not full Ryan"

"No? Well it's three quarters Ryan, anyway. You once said you'd play good cop bad cop, but only if it was an act. What if he doesn't roll over? Do we turn him over to Eliza's fingernail pullers?"

"It won't come to that," Max replied.. "He'll geek. He has to."

"Of course he'll geek. But what if he doesn't?"

"He will," Max said firmly. "Look, you said it yourself, they're going to come for us. So if you've got a better idea, now's the time."

"I guess it's like you said, then. We're just not in the Bureau anymore."

XII

Ryan Hardy lay in bed in a room in a hot sheet motel staring up at the ceiling, wondering what he had done to the people he loved most in the world. He had gone there to warn them off. But he had known all along, he realized, that they weren't going to listen. They wouldn't be warned off. They wouldn't quit. And they would never give up on him. Because they loved him.

And he had probably killed them.

He had tried to call Rat after fleeing the safe house. No answer. Of course not. Because Rat was dead. And Eliza probably knew he was alive now, and she'd come for the people he loved.

"Even you can't kill your way out of this," Mike had said. But he could. It's just that now there was no point. If his family was dead, then no matter how many of them he killed, it was all for nothing.

He kept waiting, hoping that they'd call. If they were still alive, then at some point they were going back to New York. So if they did, and if there was a chance that Eliza would move against them, then that's where he needed to be. So there were two things he needed to do now. One was start heading for New York. He could fly, and get there quickly. But he couldn't take a gun on a plane. But if he drove...

So get on the road. And along the way, take a detour, and go see Holman.

Holman sold guns. He was the dirtiest gun trafficker east of the Rockies. Holman supplied the Mexican cartels. He'd supplied terrorists. And at times, he'd supplied Ryan So Ryan could go see him, and see what he had in stock these days. "You needed to be with the people who loved you," Max had said. Well, maybe she was right. And maybe the people he loved needed him close by. So that was it. Get to New York, and make ready for war.

Ryan stood, threw on his coat, and headed out the door.

Musical Interlude - Automaton by Abney Park

The Story Of Mr. Hands

Derek's description of how suicide bombing operations worked in Iraq and how they could be taken apart is factual. Most terrorists lack technical skills, and efforts to shut down a terror campaign often have to focus on getting the ones who do have the most valuable skills and are therefore hardest to replace. Regarding the "Saudi kid" that Derek killed, the fact is that quite a few Saudis either join terrorist groups or contribute money. Fifteen of the nineteen hijackers on 9-11 were Saudi citizens.

America's official policy is to oppose, sanction, or in some cases use force against any government that supports terrorism, but that policy has significant exceptions. Both Saudi Arabia and Pakistan support terrorism, sometimes actively and sometimes by simply allowing terrorists to operate from their territory while they look the other way. For various reasons I won't go into, America mostly tolerates this. Not wishing to turn this story into something overtly political, I shall avoid the details. You can read about this on your own if you wish. Two web sites I recommend are Global Guerillas and Strategypage. Both are dot com. Both talk a great deal about how modern wars are actually fought, and how terrorist groups actually operate. Both were used as research sources in writing Terudom. Errors or distortions here are my sole responsibility.

As always, readers are strongly cautioned against trying to infer anything about my political beliefs from anything that they read here, or anything that any character in this story says.

C4 is a plastic explosive like Semtex widely used by the American military. Like any other plastic explosive, it can be shaped easily.

Explosive penetrators, or explosively formed penetrators or EFPs use a special type of explosive charge to create a jet of metal capable of knocking out an armored vehicle when used in a roadside bomb. Al Qaeda, or AQ as Derek called it, obtained a supply of these in Iraq and used them against American troops to considerable effect. At one time these weapons accounted for a high percentage of American casualties.

I felt that at long last, Mr Hands should have some sort of backstory. When Terudom began, he didn't. He existed so that Eliza could function as a character, and that was about it. But a character has a backstory, and a character who plays a role as large as his should have his backstory revealed. I have from the beginning sought to treat the original show with respect, and in general that should serve to limit the role played by an OC. . But it is what it is. There can't be just one villain, and the Following was about the relationships between the villains, not just the heroes. I had only one canon villain to work with,(Two, counting Theo, but he and Eliza were on the outs), and have been forced to improvise. How well I have succeeded is for the reader to judge.

H P Lovecraft And The Occult

The book titles named in this story regarding H P Lovecraft and the occult are fictitious. The Necronomicon, the famous book of occult knowledge that H P Lovecraft created for his stories, is also fictitious, but it so captured the imaginations of readers that books purporting to be the Necronomicon have actually been published and sold to the gullible. One of the more interesting of these is a book called Necronomicon The Wanderings of Alhazred by Donald Tyson. It does not purport to be a spell book or grimoire, but rather a narrative left by the fictitious author of the Necronomicon, Abdul Alhazred. Tyson writes a lot of books about the occult, and while I would strongly discourage readers from developing an interest in such, his version of the Necronomicon is actually a species of supernatural horror fiction, and better than most. He even incorporates into the book the quotes from the Necronomicon that Lovecraft uses in his stories. He also wrote a novel called Alhazred: Author of the Necronomicon that turns Alhazred in to an interesting character and relates his early life and adventures. I loved it. Hollywood should discover this book and option it.

To my knowledge, no cult such as I have hinted at here has ever existed, I'm just making stuff up. I remember being rather excited when Theo used an H P Lovecraft quote in The Following to decode that book. I wondered what, if anything, it meant for the future direction of the show. It always seemed to me that Lovecraft was better to obsess over than Poe, but that's just me.

15


	12. Chapter 12 - I Used To Have A Soul

Disclaimer: It's fanfic, meaning I don't own anything or make any money off of it. It's a labor of love. Please don't sue me.

Apart from some language, I don't think there's much in this chapter that wouldn't pass muster on an episode of The Following. If you're old enough to watch The Following, you're old enough to read this. We remain under a T rating, but with a chance of widely scattered dark themes. It is The Following, after all.

I'm pleased to see an increase in hits. I hope it means I'm doing something right. Feedback, positive or negative is always welcome. If you have questions or comments, I'm only a PM away.

I see more hits coming from overseas, especially from Italy. So to my Italian readers, welcome, thanks for stopping by, and I hope you like what you read. To all my readers, wherever in the world you happen to live, thank you for your interest and support.

Sorry about the long delay between updates. Between Holiday preparations, some brutal work hours, and a nasty illness, I've had a pretty full plate.

Bad Angelo's Bar And Martini Lounge is a nod to Angelo Badalamenti, whose music has been playing in the background a great deal while writing the last few chapters of Terudom.

Chapter 12 - I Used To Have A Soul

The eight members of the Committee sat around the octagonal table. Eliza sat at the Chairman's right. Sarah, fittingly, sat on the side of the table opposite her. To Eliza's right sat a bald, fortyish man with a thin face, a Gallic nose, and gray eyes. She sat impassively, listening to Sarah's remarks as though she were listening to a weather report and not an accusation of failure that could result in her death.

" This organization," Sarah said, is dependent on two things. First, we need a ready source of information about key government personnel so that we can recruit the moles we need to provide us with protection. Second, we require reliable personnel to provide security and technical support. Without these things, we simply can't function, and we would quickly find ourselves exposed."

"Eliza has been entrusted with our safety and security. She was quickly promoted to her present role by virtue of her unique position as heir to her father's military contracting business. After she murdered her father, we helped to obstruct the investigation, and the Chairman, by virtue of his influence as a member of the Strategic Operations Planning Group, was able to steer the intelligence investigation of Colonel Getman's disappearance towards a finding of terrorism. This finding in turn helped lead the authorities to declare her father dead years earlier than would normally have been the case. Since that time, Eliza has been in charge of security for the Organization."

"This represented a remarkable promotion for one so young, but as she was a student of Doctor Strauss, and applied herself to learning, I will admit, a great deal of intelligence and combat tradecraft, it seemed warranted. And for a time, it seemed to be working out. But recent events have presented a severe test of her abilities and skills. I submit that she has failed that test."

"In addition, I believe that she has failed to keep the Committee fully informed of her activities. Ten months ago a number of ZR Security Ops personnel were killed under suspicious circumstances. One was shot dead by FBI Agent Max Hardy during the course of the FBI's manhunt for Theo Noble. I do not believe that episode has ever been fully explained in a satisfactory manner. I do not believe that Eliza has told us the whole truth about her activities, or her relationship with Theo Noble."

"Recently we have seen cyber attacks directed against the Organization's front companies, including RCS, and the death of Jason Rickard, who was a key part of our data mining operation that enables us to recruit and run moles."

"Beyond that, there is the matter of what has been called the Lone Gunman, although he employs methods of killing other than just the gun. I believe that Eliza has shown herself unequal to the challenge of managing the Organization's security during this time of crisis. Although she is competent enough to handle the job in ordinary times, the present situation is anything but ordinary. I believe it is long past time Eliza was replaced. I call for a vote."

"Thank you, Sarah," the Chairman said. "Eliza deserves the opportunity to speak in her own defense."

Eliza looked slowly around the table. She had expected something like this, but expecting it didn't make it any more comfortable. She took a slow breath to steady herself. "I understand the fear and frustration that you're all feeling," she began. "I share those feelings." She spoke slowly, and kept her voice down, so as to force her listeners to hang on every word.

"I'd like to begin by pointing out that from the time Ryan Hardy went off that bridge, I have expressed skepticism that he was dead. I have, from the very beginning, kept a contingency plan ready to go in the event he were found to be alive. I will further point out that Adrian scoffed at the idea that he could have survived a fall into the river. His reasons were not unpersuasive. Hypothermia alone would have been enough to kill most men, to say nothing of the fall. But Ryan Hardy is not most men, and I have never underestimated him. I have suspected that he might be alive since the murder of Agent Lisa Campbell."*

I have, from the beginning kept an open mind about the question of Ryan Hardy's survival. And through the months of uncertainty I kept my eyes on his people, and my plans up to date. I arranged the creation of the Terudom task force, and had one of our moles put in charge of it. As soon as Mike Weston was fit for full duty, I arranged for he and Max Hardy to be transferred to the Terudom task force. Both are capable investigators. And both were close to Ryan Hardy. If he were alive, if anyone could find him, if anyone could get him to break cover, it would be them. They in fact succeeded in locating one of Ryan Hardy's contacts, and we have confirmed that he is alive. We will now begin taking his people., and Ryan Hardy will soon be neutralized."

"Sarah's idea that I had some sort of relationship with Theo Noble is a fantasy. As you know, Doctor Strauss maintained strict compartmentation in his activities. He kept his students separate from each other. However, with his trial approaching, he broke this very important rule, and brought together Kyle and Daisy Locke, and Theo Noble to help with an operation meant to discredit Ryan Hardy and the FBI. This succeeded in compromising the government's case against Strauss, but in the subsequent pursuit of Strauss, Ryan Hardy became aware of Theo's existence. Theo killed Doctor Strauss, as well as his entire family, and numerous other people besides."

"The problem, from the Organization's perspective, was that Theo might be taken alive. Strauss knew of, and had visited the House, and there was no way of knowing what Strauss might have told him about us. Theo attempted to breach House security, perhaps in an attempt to find shelter from the FBI manhunt. His attempt was defeated, although there were in fact casualties among my security people. I subsequently took a team to locate Theo and try to eliminate him before he could be captured. Unfortunately, one of my men crossed paths with Max Hardy, and was killed. But I never had any dealings with Theo. My sole concern was to protect the Organization."

"In the months since Ryan Hardy's disappearance, I have done everything possible to increase security and to protect members of the Organization. I've been dealing with a cunning and ruthless opponent. One who is about to discover that he not as cunning or as ruthless as I am. I will make him suffer before he dies. "

"I'd also like to point out that I have never been responsible for our data security, which was Jason Rickard's job. With he and Adrian gone, I would suggest giving the job to an RCS employee named Zack Coleman. His work has been exemplary, and he had shown himself to be diligent and completely reliable."

"In closing, I have done everything possible to deal with a difficult situation. I am confident that Ryan Hardy will soon be eliminated. Thank you for your attention. I look forward to your support."

"Thank you Eliza," said the Chairman. "We will now vote. The question before us is whether to remove Eliza. All in favor of doing so will vote 'yes'". He nodded at the man sitting to his left, a man with a neatly trimmed brown beard in his mid thirties. "I vote yes," the man said. "And it is long overdue." The man to his left, an athletic man in his forties with thin, slightly cruel face and a buzz cut spoke next. "I vote no," he said. Sarah was next. "I vote yes. It is time. And past time." Next was a lean, dark haired, olive skinned, man with a thin moustache. He might have been thirty. He might have been fifty. "I vote yes," he said.

Eliza barely managed to conceal her alarm. His was a vote she had thought she could count on. This was going to be close. Next was a tall woman in her mid forties with red hair tied back in a bun. She was slender, but athletic. She was not slender like reed, she was slender like a rapier, and she had a hard, unsympathetic face. Eliza knew, without asking, how she would vote. "I vote yes," the woman said.

The Chairman's vote was counted twice, allowing him to break a tie. Eliza felt sure of his support, and she was, of course, allowed to vote herself. So it would all come down to the gray eyed man next to her, and she was not at all sure how he would vote. He rarely ever spoke to her, or to anyone for that matter. But she knew that for cruelty he had few equals. He liked to roast his victims, and had constructed, with his own hands, a working brazen bull**, though his had electric heating elements instead of relying on fire. It could be used indoors, though the room really had to be ventilated on account of the smell of burned flesh. The late unlamented Manny had been given to him. She resisted the urge to look at him. It might have been interpreted as a threat, which would be suicidal, or as pleading, which would be weak and futile. She stared straight ahead, at a point on the opposite wall, willing herself to remain still. The man sat in silence, prolonging her agony. At last he said "I vote no." She resisted the urge to let out a sigh of relief. She also made a mental note to reserve for him a victim more attractive than Manny had been.

It was Eliza's turn to vote. "I vote no," she said, casually. The vote now passed to the Chairman. "I vote no," he said, without hesitation. "The motion is defeated." Eliza kept her composure, not wishing to be seen gloating. But she felt elated, relieved, overjoyed, and triumphant. She had weathered the storm, at least for now. She shot a look at Sarah Marloth, and saw the barely controlled anger and disappointment in her eyes. _I've beaten you, bitch. And down the road, I might just settle scores._

"The meeting is adjourned," the Chairman said. "Eliza, remain for a moment." The other members of the Committee filed out. Eliza remained in her chair, waiting until they were gone. When the door was closed and she and the Chairman were finally alone, she turned to him and said "Thank you, sir. I won't forget this."

"You have my confidence, Eliza," the Chairman said. "And that's why I did what I did. I truly believe that no one could have done the job for us that you've done. But I will also admit that I had sentimental reasons as well. We are both of us fellow students of Doctor Strauss. I still remember when he introduced us. I was one of his first students. Perhaps even the first. And I have likely risen higher than any other student, or at least any other that I know of. But I think if anyone surpasses me it will be you."

"Thank you for that," she said, smiling. "But I doubt I could ever rise as high in the government as you have. Your position in Strategic Operations Planning puts you near the center of this country's secret government. *** But I hope to make my mark."

"I'm sure you will," the Chairman replied. "I must say that the vote was closer than I would have liked. But you survived, and can now set about hunting down Ryan Hardy. But I must ask you, and I hope you won't be offended, are you quite certain you've told us everything about Theo?"

 _Careful here. He may know, or suspect more than he lets on._ " Sir, I had no dealings with Theo. Strauss must have been desperate, and left information about us that Theo accessed or found. My sole concern was to eliminate Theo, and plug any security leak that may have occurred. I wanted to take him alive for interrogation, but he was, you will admit, a very difficult target. Even the FBI, with all its resources couldn't track him very effectively. I wanted Theo alive if possible, dead if necessary. That was all. I would never have endangered the Organization by dealing with a man who was the FBI's most wanted fugitive." _Never change your story. Never admit anything, ever. Bluff it out._

"I know that Theo took Ryan Hardy prisoner at one point. That much is public knowledge. He was an interesting man, our Agent Hardy. I know you find predators inherently fascinating. And, at times, even attractive?"

"Sir," she said, I swear that my interest was solely in finding Theo. Ryan Hardy was irrelevant at the time. Theo may have told him of our existence. Or Lisa Campbell. I didn't."

"I'll accept that. For now. How are you getting along with Mister Hands?"

"Things have smoothed out a bit," she replied, smiling. "We've managed to reach...an understanding At the moment, he's doing an important job for me. Planting that murder weapon."

"Good," the Chairman said. "I'm glad your plan is progressing well. You know, I'm sorry your duties kept you away from the House this weekend. But I thought of you. And I saved you a little something. Think of it as the last cookie on the plate. It's downstairs"

Eliza smiled, flashing white even teeth like a hungry tiger who sees the zookeeper approaching with a side of beef. "Thank you, sir," she said."For everything."

"Enjoy"

"I will."

Eliza rose, walked out of the conference room, and walked quickly to the stairs lading to the basement. As she walked down them, she considered her situation. The Chairman was clearly concerned that she had gone behind his back in trying to get hold of Ryan Hardy. He supported her for now, but she could not afford to lose his vote on the Committee. SO from this point, she could expect no slack. Her plan had to work, without friction or failure, and it must not leave the Organization exposed in any way. And it wouldn't. _And when it's all over, I'll have Ryan Hardy after all. And as icing on the cake, his niece._

The basement was subdivided into a warren of soundproofed rooms. In one of these she found her "cookie". There were hooks in the cement walls for holding her toys and impalements. A heavy steel work table held a propane torch, metal rods with insulated handles, saws, blades, and medical and surgical implements. Hanging by her arms in the middle of the small room was a young woman who looked to be in her mid twenties. She was wearing a simple white shift. She was suspended so that she could take her weight on her arms or the balls of her feet. An gag rendered her unable to speak, but her pleading, tear streaked eyes spoke volumes about her stark terror. Eliza walked over to the work table and picked up a pair of paramedic scissors. She walked over to the girl, looking her over appraisingly.

"I'm very fortunate", she said, "that they gave you to me as a present." She lowered the scissors to the hem of the girl's shift. "So I think I'll unwrap my new toy, and play with it."

II

Derek walked past the reception desk at Fairfax International, and through a door on the right that opened with a special card holding an RFID chip. He held his card up to the reader, the light on the card reader turned green and beeped, and the door opened.

He stepped into the part of the building that held the armory. There usually weren't a lot of people in the building, there didn't need to be. There was the armory, which held an arms room holding a variety of weapons, thousands of rounds of ammo, and gear of every sort. There was a complete gunsmithing setup, although it was normally not manned. There was also an equipment room filled with technical gear of every sort located in the back corner of the armory area. This room was his destination. He entered, walked to the back of the room, and opened a large safe with a sticker on it that read TARGET ACCESS. Inside were shelves holding heavy white envelopes that might have been used to mail parcels. He rifled through them. Each was labeled with a person's name. A few had more than one person's name. He located a packet marked WESTON/HARDY, removed it, and closed up the safe. He took the packet to a desk and tore it open. Inside was a fob on a key ring, with a label tied around the ring. MAX HARDY CAR. This should open her car. He had obtained the code himself months ago.****

A second safe, much smaller, held the replacement barrel and silencer for Eliza's Glock. They were inside a zippered plastic storage bag containing a small dessicant pack to keep them dry. He put the fob for Max's car into his coat pocket, along with the plastic bag. His information was that Max Hardy's car was still parked at their apartment. So that was his next port of call.

He walked back to the reception area. There was a woman working the reception desk. Teresa. Late twenties, olive skin and dark hair with way too much mousse. She had way too much junk jewelry too. She thought this look distracted attention from her weight. Not that she was unattractive, he reflected. Far from it. Women usually don't realize how attractive they are. Men tend to think they're God's gift. They paid her way more than she could make at a legitimate job. She knew the place was hinky, but was OK with it as long as she didn't have to know the details. Jobs were scarce, especially on the Organization's pay scales. She didn't know she worked for the Organization, of course, or even that it existed. But if there was more to Fairfax International than met the eye, then she didn't want to know what it was.

"There's supposed to be someone on standby," he said.

"That would be Tanke,"Teresa replied.

"Well, where exactly is he standing by at?"

"I think he's in the break room," she said.

"Break time's over," he said, reaching into his pocket for his cigarettes.

"Smoking isn't allowed..." She stopped in midsentence when he glared at her. He lit his cigarette, turned on his heels, and headed smartly for the break room at the back of the building.

In the break room, he found a powerfully built man with short, light brown hair and wide aviator glasses with black frames. He was playing a video game on his phone. A can of Coke and a small bag of Nacho Cheese Tortilla chips sat by his elbow. "You Tanke?" Derek asked.

"Yeah"

"I need a driver."

Tanke took a last swig of his Coke and put his phone away. "Where are we going?" he asked.

"Jersey*****," Derek said. " I need you to drop me off and wait a few blocks away while I do a job. I'll give you the address."

III

They were driving past a row of functionally identical houses in the late afternoon twilight. Derek had studied the map and aerial views carefully, since he had learned that in neighborhoods like this it was easy to get lost once you were half a block from where you had started. Since all the houses were basically the same, landmarks could be a problem. "Pull over here," he said to Tanke, "and let me out." As Tanke pulled the Dodge Durango over, Derek said "Stay in motion. Just circle around, but keep close. I'll call you to pick me up. Stay alert. I'll walk down from here."

"Got it," Tanke replied.

Derek got our of the car, and began walking toward Mike and Max's apartment building. Such equipment as he needed he carried in his coat pockets. He didn't want to be seen carrying anything anyway. After half a block, he rounded a corner and saw the four story brick building, easily visible over the two story houses that lined the nearby streets. He made for it, and soon found himself in a mostly empty parking lot. He looked around to see who might be watching. Breaking into a car in a deck was easier, once you got by the guard.

He could see Max's car, but not Mike's They must have driven it to the airport. When he was a hundred feet away, he reached into his pocket and pulled out the key fob he had removed from the safe. He pressed the unlock button twice. The lights flashed on Max's car. It was unlocked. He walked up to the trunk, and opened it.

It was then that he saw the bag.

The plan had been to put the replacement barrel under the floor of the trunk, where the spare tire was kept. But something about that bag caught his interest. Large, black, ballistic nylon, with lots of zippers and pouches. Max Hardy was traveling on business. Yet she was storing something that looked like it might be valuable in an unattended car. It seemed out of place. He reached for the bag, and cautiously unzipped it, aware that he was exposed, and potentially could be seen by someone who knew that this was not his car. He opened the bag slightly, and looked at the contents.

And that was when Derek decided that it was time for a change of plans.

IV

His job completed, Derek walked briskly away from the parking lot. Max Hardy's car was locked safely up with bag still inside and the replacement barrel hidden under the spare tire. He took out his phone and called Tanke. "It's Derek. Pick me up where you dropped me off. Ten minutes." The street lights had come on. There were few pedestrians. It was a decent neighborhood, but Derek remained on high alert. The last he thing needed on a job like this was for some misguided young sociopath to force him to leave one or more dead bodies, so he kept checking for a tail.

Ten minutes later, he opened the door to the Durango, and thankfully got out of the cold. "How'd it go?" Tanke asked.

"Good," Derek replied. 'Let's head for the barn."

V

Ryan pulled his truck into the parking lot of Bad Angelo's Bar And Martini Lounge. As he got out, he stopped for a moment to mentally rehearse the details of his cover story. Since becoming officially dead he had been many people. Or more precisely he had pretended to be many people. Or, not to put too fine a point on it, he had lied to virtually everyone he met about everything. So with everyone he dealt with, he had to remember who he was supposed to be. Some wise person once said that it was easier to tell the truth than to keep track of all the lies you've told. The last ten months had taught him the truth of that statement.

Here and now he was supposed to be Larry Herron, general purpose scumbag. That was the name Holman knew him under. _How many people have I been? There's a line from Whitman. I contain multitudes. But I'm always still me. Aren't I?_ Every one of those names was a whole set of lies he'd told. Did he even know the truth anymore? Did he even know who he was anymore? He was still Ryan Hardy. Maybe. But if he was, well, he had decided that he didn't like that guy very much. He thought back to the AA meetings he'd attended. _I'm Ryan, and I'm an alcoholic._ Admitting it was always the first step. Maybe he needed to find a chapter of Serial Killers Anonymous. _Hi, everyone. I'm Ryan, and I'm a soulless killer._

That meeting with Max and Mike, he realized, had done something to him. Joe had warned him of being so close to the life he could never again have, and he'd been right. It was a kind of torment, seeing them, and then having to flee into the darkness to protect them. One that had brought him to tears. But there was potentially something even worse in store. Losing you would end me, he'd once told Max. He knew now how true that was. Despite his efforts, Eliza now had them in her sights. They would never abandon each other. Or Gwen. Or the son he had never seen, and never held. And somewhere out there they were gearing up for a fight to the death. He had to be there to help them. If something happened, if he lost them for good...He couldn't keep doing this forever. If the worst happened he'd take a gun. One that Holman had sold him. And he'd put himself out of everyone's misery.

He walked toward the door, turning his mind to the business at hand. He'd done business with Holman before, but not on this scale. Holman had a business model. He bought his guns from straw purchasers and thieves, and he had a hell of a lot of straw purchasers who kept him supplied. There were thieves, too. If you had a gun, and it was hot, or maybe it had a body on it, you could get a good price from Holman. So Holman had a secure supply of guns, and he didn't even have to keep up appearances by running a gun store, or keeping up an FFL He'd once had an FFL, but it had been yanked long ago, for sloppy record keeping.

The down side was that Holman was careful about who he sold to. Ryan had bought a gun from him, now and then, but right now he needed a lot of stuff in a hurry. And that might make Holman suspicious.

He walked into the bar, and took stock of his surroundings. A young woman in jeans and a green shirt with a blonde pony tail asked him if he'd like to sit at the bar. "No thanks, " he said. "My friend's over there." He pointed at Holman, who was sitting in a back corner alone, with a glass of beer. At this hour of the afternoon, the place hadn't been open very long. He and Holman were the only customers.

He sat down at the table opposite Holman, who had, Ryan observed, taken a seat that gave him a view of the front door. A back door behind Holman's table gave Ryan a view of the patio outside, unused in the cold weather. Ryan didn't like sitting with his back to the front door.

"Hi Ned. Thanks for coming out."

"Not a problem," Holman replied. "Always happy to have repeat business."

The young blonde from the door walked up to the table. "What can I get you?" she asked Ryan.

"Ginger ale," he replied.

She went to fetch his drink. "I'm looking to buy," Ryan said. "This time in quantity."

"Quantity?"

"Yeah. I'm buying for a few friends."

"I see," Holman said. "So, how many friends have you got?"

"Not that many", sais Ryan.

"What, specifically, do your friends need?"

"A lot," Ryan replied. "Handguns. Shotguns. Patrol rifles good to a hundred yards. Silenced is a plus. A big one. And ammo for same."

Holman sat in silence for a moment, and Ryan realized that he was waiting for the girl, who was returning from the bar, to bring his drink. Ryan thanked her, and waited for her to withdraw to a safe distance.

"Well?" Ryan said.

"You know, Larry, we've done business before, right? And I do like to take care of my regulars."

"But?"

" But a guy does business with me, and he pays, and he comes back, and he pays, and then I don't hear from him for a while. And then one day he shows up, and he wants quantity. For his friends And it makes me nervous. Makes me wonder if any of his friends might be ATF."

"Jesus, Ned..."

Holman held up his hand, and Ryan fell silent. "I'm just saying. You go out, maybe do something stupid, and it catches up with you. And maybe the Feds tell you that you can shave a few years off your sentence, or maybe even walk, by setting old Ned up for a sting. And the ATF loves to make big buys when they do a sting. Makes for really good headlines, you know?"

"Look, I'm not trying to buy an arsenal," Ryan said. "It's me and two other people. We're concerned about the next big gun control push. They live in an urban area, and they're worried about breakdown. Riots, racial crap, terrorists, of which we seem to have more and more these days. Trouble is, well, they're good people, but they've made some mistakes, and they can't pass an NICS check. They asked me to help them out. I mean, Christ, they keep letting these people in here, ya know? And that's just so wrong and so stupid. It would mean a lot. But I understand how you feel. I can pay extra. But if the answer is no, it's no. I'll just have to try finding someone." _Don't ask, don't plead. If you sound desperate he'll think you really do have the ATF on your ass, and then it's over. Dangle money under his nose_. _Look like you're ready to walk._

Holman looked intently at Ryan, considering his offer. "Ok," he said at last. "I really shouldn't, but Christmas was kinda expensive. Suppose I put together a basic urban survival package for you and your friends. Something good for effective home defense. Or even effective home attack. But it won't be cheap. You each get a pistol, it'll be a nine. I've got a twelve gauge pump. One For rifles, I've got a couple of nine millimeter carbines. Scoped. And a Mini 14. The carbines have silencers. And bookoo ammo. Say, oh, twenty five for the whole package?"

"That's highway robbery," Ryan said with astonishment. 'Fifteen"

Holman thought for a moment. "Twenty, and that's as low as I go."

Ryan pretended to consider Holman's price. "Twenty," he said at last. "Where and when? It needs to be real soon."

"My place of business. Six thirty."

"Six thirty it is," Ryan said. "And thanks"

VI

The late afternoon Sun streamed in through the dirty window, revealing a man hunched over an expensive laptop sitting on a cheap particle board desk with spindly legs. There was dust floating in the air, and cobwebs could be seen in the corners of the room, and where the walls and the ceiling intersected. There was a suitcase sitting on the threadbare couch, and more luggage by the door.

He was staring at the laptop. Multiple windows were open. One showed seemingly random alphanumeric strings that would have seemed meaningless gibberish to most people. One showed emails. One showed an FBI case file. One showed a series of what might have been personnel files from some HR department somewhere. One showed news. And one showed a chat client. It was on this window that the man was chiefly focused.

PENNEY: HI BABE. I'VE MISSED YOU

THEO: MISSED YOU TOO. SORRY I HAVEN'T BEEN AROUND MUCH LOTS TO DO

PENNEY: I'M SURE. YOU SPEND TOO MUCH TIME ONLINE. YOU SHOULD GET OUT MORE. THERE'S A WHOLE WORLD OUT THERE, YOU KNOW

THEO: I KNOW, I KNOW BUT THERE'S A LOT GOING ON RIGHT NOW. I HAD A BUSY NIGHT. I WANTED TO CHAT, BUT SOME GUY INTERRUPTED. PEOPLE ARE SO RUDE.

PENNEY: I HOPE YOU TOOK CARE OF HIM FOR THAT

THEO: IN TIME. ACTUALLY HE TOOK CARE OF SOME PEOPLE I DIDN'T EVEN NEED ANYMORE. WHICH SAVED ME SOME TROUBLE. YOU KNOW I'VE ALWAYS HAD TROUBLE WORKING WITH OTHER PEOPLE.

PENNEY: TELL ME ABOUT IT. YOU'RE JUST NOT A TEAM PLAYER. SO WHAT NOW?

THEO: I'VE BEEN TYING UP LOOSE ENDS. YOU KNOW HOW THAT GOES. I'M PACKED AND HEADING FOR NEW YORK. TIME TO FINALLY FINISH SOME OLD BUSINESS.

PENNEY: BE CAREFUL.

THEO: ALWAYS. YOU KNOW, I REALLY MISS OUR FACE TO FACE TALKS.

PENNEY: YEAH. IT TOTALLY SUCKS LISTEN, TRY TO ENJOY YOURSELF. HAVE SOME FUN ONCE IN A WHILE. ALL WORK AND NO PLAY MAKES THEO A DULL BOY.

THEO: HEH. IT'S OLD BUSINESS, BUT I'M GOING TO ENJOY TAKING CARE OF IT.

PENNY: I CAN IMAGINE. TAKE GOOD CARE OF YOURSELF.

THEO: YOU DON'T EVER NEED TO WORRY ABOUT ME. BUT OTHER PEOPLE DO.

PENNEY: HAHAHAHA. GOOD TO SEE YOU'RE KEEPING A SENSE OF HUMOR.

PENNEY: {{{{{THEO}}}}} BUH-BYE

THEO: {{{{{PENNEY}}}}}

He closed the various windows on the laptop, shut it down, and packed it away into a zippered carry case. Then he began gathering up his luggage, and taking it out the door.

VII

The Judson County Sheriff's Department had it's cramped headquarters in the basement of the beautiful old courthouse in the center of town. The place might have been beautiful in a rustic, Colonial kind of way on the outside, but downstairs the place was dingy and claustrophobic, with the walls painted a dark green that would have been fitting for the inside of jail where the guards wanted the prisoners to be endlessly depressed. Mike wondered idly what the inside of the jail must be like if the Sheriff's Department had to work in a place like this.

They were in a room marked Criminal Division, but given the Department's general lack of personnel and resources, the labels on the doors were partly for show. Apparently everyone did everything, and the doors were labeled with different divisions because visiting press might expect it. Max was seated in front of a computer on the desk of some detective who had wisely chosen weeks ago to take a few days off to go skiing. Mike was sitting behind her in a chair that had been dragged up from somewhere. The desk next to hers, which presumably belonged to another detective, had been appropriated by Sheriff Hester.

"It looks these people started out in New Jersey, or Upstate, and had lived there for a couple of years. They had different addresses. Nine months ago they all picked up and moved. To Philadelphia. Wayne Jarrett had a part time job in a warehouse. The other two, Joe Rolfe and William Robey, the ones we found dead at the house, didn't actually have jobs during that time. And they stayed in Philadelphia for two months. And they bought a car. A used Kia. Paid cash. On no income?" She looked a Mike, a puzzled expression on her face.

"After that, they all moved again. They were renters in Philadelphia, and they moved to Boston for three months. Spotty employment records there too. Maintained different addresses. Three months in the Richmond area. Showed up in Beaumont two months ago, and someone apparently bought the Cameron house where they lived, from the Cameron estate. But it wasn't them."

"They weren't doing that kind of killing in a rented place," Mike said. "You mean someone bought these people an actual house?"

"Could I see you privately?" she asked.

"Excuse us, please," Mike said. Max rose from her chair, and motioned him toward a door marked NARCOTICS. The room was unoccupied. Mike recalled someone mentioning that the Narcotics division boasted only two officers.

"OK," she said, "here's what I think. We're looking at someone's followers. They were getting serious financial support from someone. There's money behind this, whatever it is. They weren't self supporting. Wayne Jarrett dropped out of Winslow University in 2008. That puts him awfully close to the late Doctor Strauss. I don't think he was a Strauss student, but is it possible he was following someone who was?"

"It's possible. We're assuming that Shiny is or was here in Beaumont. But maybe he moves around. And they move with him. But what bugs me," said Mike, "is the time line. They lived in or near the New York area until nine months ago. That's not long before the first of..." He paused for a moment before continuing. "The first Terudom killing. The first known Shiny attack was a month ago. If they're somehow linked to Shiny, and he was moving around all that time, then what was he doing? We didn't hear of him until last month."

"Maybe there's something that puts them in the New York area around the time of Jason Rickard's murder," Max replied. "Car rentals, credit card receipts." She saw his expression change, and become distant. "What?" she asked.

"Whatever this traveling freak show was doing, they started around the same time Terudom started," Mike said. "We're assuming this is Shiny related. But it started not long before Terudom, but after Ryan and Theo...Oh my God. Max, they never found Theo's body either."

She froze for a moment, a stricken look on her face. "Ryan was right," she said. "It will never, ever end."

He stepped forward, took her by the elbow, and looked at her intently. "It will end," he said. "Because we're going to end it. Together."

Max nodded, slowly. "We need to get back in there," she said. "We've got to research these people. Find out what we can. Maybe something will give us a lead."

VIII

Max informed Sheriff Hester that she and Mike were temporarily taking over the Narcotics Division office. Whatever drug problem was plaguing Beaumont would have to be moved to the back burner, at least for the moment. The reshuffle would give them, they hoped, at least a little privacy.

Despite the move, they didn't have much time alone. Sheriff Hester kept checking on their progress, and they could hardly order him out. A few people tried to be helpful, including a girl named Olivia in her mid twenties who seemed to have something to do with general administrative drudgery, and who repeatedly offered to bring coffee, lunch, or something out of the snack machine as an excuse to flirt with Mike. Max found this intensely annoying, but what was worse was that they couldn't look into Zack Coleman. They didn't dare leave a trace of a search anywhere in the computers of the Sheriff's Department, or the Bureau. The claustrophobia of the dark green office was merging into a kind of claustrophobic paranoia. She wanted to call Ryan. She wanted to call Gwen. She wanted to get home and check on Gwen. She wanted to flee the subterranean office and get on a plane home. She wanted to punch Olivia's lights out. And she was limited in her ability to investigate by the need to conceal what they knew from Galen, from Eliza, and now from Theo. Between imagining Gwen and Ryan Junior alone and defenseless, worrying about Ryan, and little Miss Olivia, she was on her last nerve.

Olivia had just returned to see if Mike wanted anything, anything at all, and Max was listening to her explain to Mike that the offices had been a much more attractive shade of light blue until Sheriff Hester had been elected, and that he had insisted on the green color because he didn't like Carolina. As she read down the screen, partly distracted by Olivia's inane prattle, she suddenly stopped, frozen in mid sentence.

"I've got something!" she exclaimed.

"What?" Mike asked.

"Wayne Jarrett had a sister named Nanci. Who married a man named Roger Gordon. And their current address is right here in Judson County. Looks like they've been part of the Mister Shiny Road Show."

"Let's go," Mike said.

It was late afternoon as they left the courthouse, with every available Deputy the Department could muster. The place was now besieged by media, with a phalanx of camera crews and newspaper reporters, mostly local, drawn up on the town square. As the column of Sheriff's vehicles, with Mike and Max's FBI car in the lead, moved out, Mike reflected that whatever element surprise they might still achieve was likely gone if their suspects were watching television. But considering who they were probably dealing with, he somehow didn't expect to find them sitting in front of the TV set.

VIII

Roger and Nanci Gordon lived in a double wide on a country road called Haynes, only five miles from the murder house they had visited earlier. The cars rolled down the dirt driveway, and the trailer was quickly surrounded. Two Sheriff's Deputies applied a battering ram to the door, and Mike charged through it, pistol at the ready, Max close behind.

They were too late. Roger Gordon, who had apparently been working an unarmed security job the night before, had come home to find his wife already hours dead, her throat cut, a spreading bool of her blood on the bathroom floor. . Roger himself had been garotted as he had walked into his bedroom.

They stood outside in the twilight, the eastern sky shading to purple, the western sky still blue with a few clouds reflecting the red sun that had sunk below the treetops. Mike watched Max shiver with a chill that he knew was caused by more than the deepening cold. "Let's go home,' she said, in a voice that verged on a plea. "He's gone. He's tied up the loose ends, and he's gone. There's nothing here to find now. We tell the Sheriff that he's gone, and we need to be after him. And we don't tell Galen. Just get on a red eye tonight. They're not expecting us to leave before tomorrow morning. I say we leave on the next plane. Because the only loose end now is Coleman, and if we're ever going to talk to him, we have to do it while he's still alive."

"You're right," Mike said. "We've done all we can here. Call Gwen. Check on her. Don't discuss our travel plans. I'll talk to the Sheriff, and then we go pack. We drop off the car at the Resident Agency, and walk back to the hotel. And we go home."

IX

Tanke parked the Durango in the cavernous garage at Fairfax International. "Thanks, man," Derek said, as he got out . "Good job." He walked back toward the front office area. Finding himself alone in the hall outside the server room, he stopped, and pulled out his phone. He tried calling Eliza, but got her voice mail.

"This is Derek," he said. "The package has been delivered. We're good to go. Hope everything went well. I, uh..I never thought I'd say it, but...I kinda miss you. Hurry back." He hung up, and walked toward the armory to return the fob to its safe. As he entered the front reception area where the main offices were located, he encountered Stinnes and Kaminsky. "Welcome back," he said. "I tried calling the Boss Lady, but I got her voice mail."

"She was going to the House," Kaminsky said. "She turns the phone off when she's killing someone."

"I totally understand," Derek said. "I hate it when I'm in the middle of murdering someone and I gotta take a phone call."

Kaminsky and Stinnes both gave him a "You just don't get it" look. Tanke came walking back from the garage, perhaps looking to return to the break room, when the intercom buzzed. Kaminsky reached over the front desk and hit the switch, Teresa having gone home for the day.

"We got a guy at the front gate," a voice said. "He's on the list."

"Send him through," Kaminsky said. He turned to Tanke. "Meet him at the garage and bring him up here."

A few minutes later, Tanke returned with a middle aged man with dark hair greying around the temples, olive skin, and a prominent nose. He had dark eyes, and an acne scarred face. He was just short of six feet. Seeing him, Derek stared a moment, and visibly tensed.

"Who is in charge here?" the man asked. He spoke with an accent that was difficult to place.

"That would be me," said Derek.

"And you are?"

"Sir, to you", Derek said icily.

"I am..." the man began.

"Doctor Milani, I presume," Derek interrupted.

"Do I know you?" the man asked.

"You knew a friend of mine," Derek replied. "Terry Vickers."

"Oh". Milani thought for a moment. "Oh, I see. Where is Eliza?"

"Someplace else."

"I was told by Eliza that my services would be required. I have brought my equipment..."

"Tanke," Derek interrupted. "Show him where to set up."

"This way," Tanke said. He might have been anxious to get Milani away from Derek. He might have been anxious to return to the break room.

"What was that all about?" Kaminsky asked, when they had gone.

"You don't know who that was?" Derek asked. Kaminsky shook his head. "Hagen Milani. Has a degree in psychiatry. Good friend of mine got caught on the wrong side of a line. They turned him over to that guy. They sent us videos of Milani working on him, just to fuck with us. A mind is a terrible thing to erase. He was less human every time we saw him. We heard he died. Eventually." He stared down the hall as he spoke, in the direction that Milani and Tanke had gone. He turned to Kaminsky. "She put that piece of shit on payroll?"

"Yeah, man," Kaminsky replied. "She put you on payroll too."

Derek looked at Kaminsky appraisingly, as if considering whether killing him would be worth the subsequent hassle. Then he relaxed, and broke into a smile. "You know," he said, "I used to have a soul. I sold the bitch for way more than it was worth. But every now and then I wish I could look at it, just to remember what it was like." Kaminsky and Stinnes made no reply. After a few moments, Derek said "Keep that fuckweasel where I don't see him." Then he turned and headed for the armory. As he walked away, he overheard Kaminsky's verdict.

"That guy's fucked up."

 _Dude, you have no idea._

X

Ned Holman's place of business was a scrap yard called Holman's Scrap & Recycle. Holman had a long history in the metal business, both buying and selling metal. These days, a lot of the metal he sold was of the blue steel variety. Ryan had to hand it to him. Holman had never run a gun store, and his gun business hadn't really started up until after that. He had kept himself below the radar, and was making himself a lot of money. The scrap yard helped with that, because with any illegal business, you needed an explanation for where the money came from.

The scrap and recycle place was located on a stretch of rural two lane highway. A chain link fence surrounded a large, ugly, open gash on the landscape with huge piles of scrap sorted by some type of system, and a larger pile at the back with old appliances, metal pipe, cans, chains, metal conduit, and other detritus.

The building was a cinder block affair, painted white. It was after hours, so the drive through window by the weigh scales was closed, and the various forklifts and other machines sat silent. There were a couple of large open bays in the back of the building with various piles of scrap inside them. Holman stood in one, along with a large, dark haired man with a heavy black beard who looked to be built like a linebacker. That would be Holman's security. One guy. Well, Holman was kinda cheap sometimes. This time it was going to cost him.

Because Ryan didn't have $20,000. He had been forced to leave a lot of his ready cash behind in the safe house, he just couldn't access that much on short notice, and Holman wasn't going to take a check. So this was going to get ugly. Ryan pulled his truck into the bay, killed the engine, and got out. In his right hand, he held a large manila envelope sealed with a metal clasp. _Have the envelope in your gun hand. It will put them at ease._

"I need to see the stuff," Ryan said.

"So do I", Holman replied.

"You show me yours first," Ryan said with a smile.

"In here, then," said Holman, motioning Ryan towards a door in back of the bay. Ryan followed him and the bearded guy fell in naturally behind Ryan. As he walked, Ryan mentally rehearsed the twenty-one foot rule. An attacker with a knife can cover twenty one feet and kill you before you can get your gun out. He'd seen it demonstrated, and he even demonstrated it himself for trainees at Quantico. But this would be no demonstration. This was for keeps. Now if only Holman didn't have another guy inside. He didn't want any shooting, if he could avoid it.

They entered an office. Sitting on a desk, propped against the wall, were the carbines, looking vaguely like shortened AR type assault rifles. Next to them was a five shot Mossberg shotgun with a blue steel finish. There were three pistols, two M&Pc types, and a Shield. The silencers sat next to the carbines, and there were several spare magazines of various types. "The carbines take Glock magazines," Holman said. They come with one thirty rounder each. If you need more, visit your friendly local gun store."

Ryan held up his left hand, and tapped the envelope against it a few times while regarding the carbines thoughtfully. The he transferred the envelope to his left hand and offered it to Holman. "Looks good," he said.

Holman took the envelope, and began undoing the metal clasp. As he did so, Ryan was lowering his right hand back to his side, but instead of completing that move he whipped the knife out of the crossdraw sheath under his jacket on the left side, whirled, and went for the bearded man.

The man did the worst possible thing he could have done. He went for his pistol. But he was standing only seven feet from Ryan, he was caught off guard, and there simply wasn't time. Rya drove the knife into his guts and pulled upward, hard, slitting him open to his breastbone. He pulled the knife back out, feeling it scrape on bone as he did so. He turned and went for Holman, who had dropped the envelop, and was frantically trying to back away while drawing his own gun. But he backed into a chair, tripped, and lost his footing. He went down hard, and Ryan was on him in a heartbeat, driving his knife repeatedly into Holman's abdomen.

It was over in seconds, with Holman's lifeless eyes staring up at the ceiling. Ryan tossed Holman's gun a safe distance from his body just in case, and stood up, breathing hard, and shaking. He realized that his clothes were covered with blood, as were his hands. He could wash in hands in the restroom here, but he wasn't sticking around the scene of the crime long enough to change clothes. He'd have to find a place down the road.

XI

It was night, with few lights visible. Ryan stared at the highway ahead. He checked his GPS, and was thankful to see that he'd be on the interstate soon. There'd be more lights on the interstate. Not that there was anything wrong with his headlights, or his night vision. But more light would be nice. But then, he reflected, all roads now, no matter how well lit, were equally dark.

"A bit of public service homicide?" Joe asked.

Ryan remained silent. "What great writer said," Joe continued, 'That there are no dangerous weapons, only dangerous men?"

"Robert Heinlein," Ryan said. "Starship Troopers. I never thought Heinlein was your thing."

"He isn't," Joe said. "He was yours. In high school, I believe."

"Ok," Ryan said, "he had it coming."

"So was this business or pleasure?" Joe asked.

"I needed the stuff. And the world is now a slightly better place."

"But if there are only dangerous men, like the two of us..."

"High school is over," Ryan said. "And so is Holman making dangerous, or just dangerously stupid people even more dangerous."

"Nonsense Ryan. You know what they say. Guns don't kill people. You kill people."

Ryan sighed. "I can tell this is gonna be a long drive."

XII

They were in the hotel room packing. "Maybe we can sleep a little on the plane," Mike said.

"Yeah," Max replied, "it would be nice. I wonder what we're going home to?"

"I don't know," he said. "But whatever happens we face it together. Can I tell you something?"

"Sure"

He put his arms around her, and drew her in close. "Gwen told me once that you blamed yourself because you couldn't get your gun out faster the night I was stabbed. But the truth is the only reason I was able to hang on long enough to draw mine and put Mark down was because I could hear you screaming, and I knew you were getting stabbed next. And all those days after. When I hurt so bad, and it seemed like I would never have a life again. Sometimes the only thing that matters in life is how hard a punch you can take. Sometimes things can get so bad that you have to have a reason to go on. You were mine. It would have so easy to lose hope. Don't lose hope. We're gonna beat them. All of them. And after that, we've got a wedding to plan."

"Our wedding," she said, as if trying to see it in her mind. "The whole rest of our lives. And don't worry. I'm not quitting on you. Or us. I went through too much, and I made mistakes of my own. We have a future. And we're living to see it."

"We will," he said.

"Are we going to have kids?" she asked. "Because if we are, we'll have to move again."

""Yeah," he said. "We're having kids. "And as for the bigger place, well, we'll burn that bridge when we come to it."

"When we have our first son," she said, "we're naming him Robert. For the man who gave you to me."

"Robert Raymond," he said. "That's our future. Right now, though, we need to be going."

Musical Interlude: Afraid by The Dreaming

* Lisa Campbell was not on life support, and was healthy enough to have a normal conversation at the time of her death. Although the cause of death was never revealed, it seems unlikely that Ryan could have concealed the fact that she was murdered. That might not in itself be taken as evidence that Ryan Hardy was alive. The world is full of crazy people, and as an FBI agent, Lisa Campbell could well have had enemies. Still, it seems that Eliza would have at least considered the possibility.

** An ancient method of execution. The bull was made of metal, and once the victim was sealed inside, a fire was built underneath. The acoustics were designed so that from the outside, the screams of the victim sounded like the lowing of a bull.

*** Obviously Strauss knew of the existence of the House and the Organization, or he could not have left the location in that book for Theo to find. This raises the question of Strauss' prior relationship with the Organization. Clearly he had one. How did he know about the House? There are three obvious possibilities. One is that he and Eliza kept in touch after her studies ended, and she told him about it. The second is that Strauss himself was a member of the Organization. The third is that Strauss knew someone in the Organization other than Eliza.

I am inclined to go with some combination of theories one and three.. Strauss clearly was not a member of the Organization, since they did nothing to assist him in his defense or his attempt to escape. Yet he knew about the House. How? My hypothesis is that Strauss may have known someone in the Organization, perhaps a student other than Eliza. He introduced Eliza, one of his most exceptional students, to that person, and thus brought her to the Organization's attention as someone promising. So I decided that Strauss taught the Chairman himself. Strauss never joined the Organization. He may not have been much of a joiner, and he may simply have been unwilling to be in an organization where he wasn't in charge. The Chairman, as he rose higher in the government, saw the possibilities of subverting it from within for the purpose of providing a safe outlet for a select group of wealthy, powerful serial killers. Strauss followed his subsequent career, and they remained in touch. So Strauss knew about the Organization and the House. He may have kept in touch with Eliza as well after she went to work there.

Why did Strauss put Eliza's location in the book? He may have considered turning to her for help, and thus gave her location to Juliana. Since neither he nor Juliana seems to have contacted Eliza during the time frame of Season 3, he may have intended to contact her only as an absolute last resort, and gave Juliana instructions to that effect. His reason would have been that he knew Eliza better than anyone. (Certainly much better than Theo!) He knew she was not the most trustworthy of people, and that if he came to her for help with the FBI on his tail then, as Mister Hands put it, no trace of him would ever be found. He did not put Eliza's or the Chairman's names in the book because it was, frankly, more than his life was worth and he knew it. Even reaching out to Eliza was so dangerous that he never actually attempted it. On the other hand, reaching out to Theo didn't really work out all that well either, but that's neither here nor there.

The Strategic Operations Planning Group is fictitious, sort of. America has a vast, hugely expensive, and intermittently effective national security and intelligence bureaucracy. Near the top of it is a group that, among other things, approves covert operations. It has gone through many different publicly know names. It has been called the 303 Committee, the 40 Committee., the NSC 5412/2 Special Group (Or just the Special Group), and many others besides. Search engine if you are interested. In my off the meter version of The Following, it's called The Strategic Operations Planning Group, mainly because a fictitious name keeps things more or less apolitical. The name, roster of members, and organizational details change somewhat with succeeding Administrations, and occasional overhauls of the intelligence community. Members have in the past included the Secretaries of State and Defense, the President's National Security Advisor, the Director of Central Intelligence (And these days the Director of National Intelligence), and the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff. There is likely a support staff of some sort, and heads of other agencies and various members of the White House staff may be involved as well.

Giving the Chairman this sort of background (Strauss student, and highly placed in America's national security establishment) seems consistent with what little we were ever told about The Following's Big Bad that we never got to see. It also means that Strauss, though never a member, was partly responsible, at least indirectly, for the Organization's founding. Given the role he played in The Following's mythology, this seems fitting.

**** Keyless access systems for cars are good enough to defeat the average car thief, but not all car thieves are average. Keyless access systems can be defeated, if you have the right equipment and the right skill set.

There are two basic types of system in use, a fob, and a PKES. (Passive Keyless Entry System) Both involve RFID chips. Remember what we learned in Chapter 8 about wireless alarms? Wireless devices involve a tradeoff between convenience and security. Well, fobs and PKES are wireless systems, they involve that same tradeoff, and they end up trading off just one hell of a lot of security for all that convenience.

With a fob, you push a button on the fob, and it sends out a signal with a range of about 100 feet. The lights on your car flash, and the doors unlock. That radio signal can be intercepted by anyone within a hundred feet. Remember what Eliza said in The Reckoning? "We have eyes on Hardy's people..." So if one of her guys, say Derek, was standing with a hundred feet of Max when she hit the button on her fob, he could have, with the right equipment, intercepted the signal her fob sent out, meaning he could then unlock her car any old time he felt like it. Done.

A car equipped with a PKES sends out a signal with a range of about three feet. Any PKES key within that range receiving that signal will then send out an answering signal. If the car's PKES recognizes the answering signal, then the car unlocks automatically, and can be started at the touch of a button. So all Derek would have to do would be to walk within three feet of Max's car while she was out of it, while carrying a device to pick up her PKES signal and record it. He could then amplify that signal, and broadcast it from well outside the normal range of the PKES on Max's car. He wouldn't even have to be standing near her to do it. Any PKES within range of the signal he broadcast would respond. So he could capture Max's PKES signal and use it unlock her car any old time, and if he liked, start it without a key.

I keep telling you, it's a creepy world.

***** I went apartment hunting online, and picked an address for planning purposes that fit the general details of my story and gave them a reasonable commute to work. (It also gave me a floor plan of their apartment) On two FBI salaries, it's affordable., though living in or near New York is never a simple proposition, logistically or financially. It's one bedroom, one bathroom. My assumption is that they likely moved into Mike's place when he got out of the hospital. Max, given the Tom thing, may have had bad memories of hers. Later they may have wanted a slightly larger place where they could start fresh.

The Illegal Gun Business

One of the hazards I've run into in writing Terudom is that it's been overtaken by real world events more than once. It never occurred to me starting out that it could happen. It never occurred to all the film makers who put the towers of the World Trade Center in their movies in background shots that a murderous weirdo with some suicidal followers would knock them down, but there it is.

The gun issue has resurfaced in the news on account of the recent massacre in San Bernadino. Given the distemper of some of the public commentary about this atrocity, especially on Twitter, where people seem to lose all self restraint, I have nothing to say about the matter, at least not here. The scene with Ryan buying illegal guns was always going to be in Terudom, long before San Bernadino, or Paris, or any crime that happens to have gone down while this chapter was getting written. Holman was never going to survive. His MO, and his extensive use of straw purchases (Which seems to have figured in San Bernadino) was decided on long ago. It's fiction, not political commentary, or a policy recommendation. I don't do those anyway. But like all of the fiction I write, it is salted with occasional facts. Straw purchases are a problem. Judging by the publicly available numbers, straw purchasers don't get prosecuted all that often. I have opinions on why that is and what ought to be done about it. I don't express them on ff dot net. This is not the place for that.

For the benefit of anyone who doesn't know the terms, ATF refers to the Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco, Firearms, and Explosives. With the possible exception of the ATF itself, no one uses the full acronym. Unlike the FBI, which is under the Justice Department, ATF is under the Treasury Department. FFL is short for Federal Firearms License, which is needed in America to operate a gun store or to sell guns commercially. NICS is short for National Instant Criminal Check System. An FFL holder selling a gun commercially must send the prospective buyer's name to the NICS to verify that the person is not a criminal and may legally purchase a gun. Details about NICS checks are available online, including at the FBI's own web site.

Regarding the weapons Ryan bought, pictures can be found online. Ryan Hardy generally changed guns at least once a season. He carried an M&Pc through most of season 2, and an M&P Shield through the first five or six episodes of Season 3.

The Twenty-one foot rule can be seen demonstrated in a number of YouTube videos. The best of these is a very old police training video featuring a martial arts master named Don Inosanto. Use his name and twenty-one foot rule as search terms.


	13. Chapter 13 - The People We Love

Disclaimer: It's fanfic, meaning I don't own anything or make any money off of it. It's a labor of love. Please don't sue me.

Apart from some language, I don't think there's much in this chapter that wouldn't pass muster on an episode of The Following. If you're old enough to watch The Following, you're old enough to read this. This chapter is rated T, with possible dark themes ahead. It's The Following. Bad things happen.

Chapter 13 - The People We Love

Eliza drove down Massachusetts Avenue, past the Naval Observatory on her right, and crossed Rock Creek and Potomac Parkway into a different world. This was probably the most expensive neighborhood in Washington. The Chairman lived here, and his house was only minutes away, but that was not her destination. She had an early morning meeting. Normally she was not a morning person, but this morning she was almost giddy. Even the low, slate gray clouds that promised snow possessed a kind of cold, bleak beauty. So much had gone so well in the last couple of days. The world suddenly seemed full of possibilities.

It was almost like an intense high. Joy and relief at having survived the vote, anticipation of her vengeance on Ryan Hardy, and Sarah as well. Plus she was still feeling a lingering rush from her kill yesterday. It had been sublime. Dying involves an emotional process. Shock, anger, bargaining, and eventually resignation and acceptance. Dying slowly under torture took the victim through a compressed version of that same process. Shock and disbelief, anger, fear, panic, frantic attempts to bargain and reason, and finally just wanting it to end. She had taken the girl through each stage, and savored every moment.

And she had thought of it as a dress rehearsal for Max Hardy.

She took a swig of coffee, then returned the cup to its holder and reached for her phone. Time to check in with Derek.

"Acme Pest Control," said a sleepy sounding voice.

"Did I wake you up?" she asked.

"You did. What's happened?"

"Nothing," she replied. 'I just wanted you to know that I'm on my way to a meeting in DC before I head back to New York. I may be delayed, but I'll be in later today."

"So I take it that things at the House went our way?"

"Yes," she said excitedly. " And you should have seen Sarah's grieving face."

"I'd rather see your smiling one. Anyway, congratulations. I never doubted you."

"Thank you Now I have another meeting to get to."

" At this hour of the morning?"

"Yes, at this hour of the morning," she said. " Some of us have work. We can't be sleeping the day away."

"I'll have you know I suffered a painful and serious injury in the line of duty. One that required medical attention. I'm entitled to my rest."

'Well if you're not too busy resting, mind the store for a few more hours until I get back."

"As long as I've got you on the phone," he said, "there is one thing. Regarding that project we discussed, tell that asshat Galen that he needs to be sending us copies of any reports that Weston and Hardy sent from Beaumont. Lies, half truths, and evasions all of it, I'm sure, but we still need to see it. I need to know as much as possible about those psychos I ran into. I gotta find out who they were working for."

"I'll see to it," she said. "But in less than twenty-four hours, we'll be asking Max Hardy about what they found ."

"I know," said Derek, "but it's easier to get to the truth if you know what lies they've told."

"I think I know how to conduct an interrogation," she said.

"I'm sure," he replied. "So I'll mind the store. I'm surprised and flattered that you trust me with the responsibility."

"And while we're on the subject of trust and responsibility," Eliza said, "I assume you met Doctor Milani. I know you have some unfortunate history with him. I've read the file. I don't want any trouble."

"Trouble? Moi?"

"Derek..."

"No trouble. I promise"

"Good.," She said. "I'll get you the reports, and I'll call when I'm wheels up for New York. "

She hung up, and mentally shifted gears. She had told Derek earlier that she had plans for taking the Organization in new directions. It would begin with this meeting.

II.

Derek placed his phone back on the nightstand, rolled over, and considered going back to sleep. He'd planned to spend the day reading reports on the North Carolina crime scenes, but Galen had sent nothing. He could go online and read the news reports, which would at least give him any names that law enforcement had released. He didn't have to be at Fairfax to do that. There wasn't anything much to do there at the moment, and anyway he didn't want to see Milani. Since news reports were public, he could look those up here at home. If they needed him at Fairfax, they had his number.

He rose, and went to the kitchen. A check of the refrigerator and the kitchen cabinet confirmed what he suspected. There hadn't been much time to shop, and the cupboard was nearly bare. So priority one was go out for breakfast, then come back here and start web surfing. He ran a hand across the stubble on his face. Normally he was clean shaven. He'd worn a beard Over There, since the locals expected it of a warrior. He was more fastidious about shaving since he got back, mostly because being clean shaven reminded him that he wasn't in that fucking place anymore. But he was getting hungry, so he decided that this morning, he'd just go out looking like a bum.

He went to get dressed, thinking that for a change, he should have a quiet day.

III

Eliza turned down California, and after crossing 23rd, found herself between two rows of apartment buildings. The one she wanted was on the left. The apartment she wanted was on the eighth floor. That apartment and the entire seventh and eighth floors along with it were rented by an embassy. Eliza wasn't sure what, if anything, they did with the seventh floor. The purpose of renting it may simply have been to keep anyone on the seventh floor from drilling into the ceiling to install microphones capable of listening to what was said on the floor above.

She took the elevator to the eighth floor. When the door opened, she found herself facing a hallway. In front of her were two men in business suits manning a walk through metal detector and an X-Ray device for luggage. Both men were Caucasian, with military style haircuts. She carried only a small briefcase, which she placed on the conveyor, and walked through the detector. She smiled at one of the men. "I'm here to see the General," she said. "I have an appointment. Tell him it's Eliza."

"This way please," the man said. Eliza retrieved her briefcase and followed the man down the hall. He knocked on a door on the left, and the door was opened by another business suited man with the same short buzz cut as the others. He ushered her inside, and she found herself standing in a large, open room with a bar along the back wall, and a living room and dining room ahead of her. Through the window, she could see the Hilton Washington in the distance.

The security man showed her to a short hallway on the left that led to a small office, with very dark wood paneling on the walls and floor. A window next to the desk commanded the same view of the Hilton she had seen in the other room. Seated on a couch was a man with a thick shock of unruly hair, once dark, but now mostly gone gray. He had a weatherbeaten face and a few days growth of gray stubble. He set his magazine down on the coffee table in front of the couch. and rose in greeting, extending his hand.

"Ms Getman," he said. "Thank you for coming. I wish I could have scheduled your visit at a more convenient time for you, but I shall be in meetings all day."

She shook his hand.. "Please, General call me Eliza. And it's not inconvenient. I know you're a busy man." He was dressed like his security men, in a business suit. Apparently he was keeping a low profile on this visit.

"I knew your father by reputation," he said, "though I never had the pleasure of meeting him. I was sorry to learn of his death."

"Thank you."

"I think it's remarkable how you've taken charge of the company he founded. Most military contractors have prior military experience. I'm told you don't, and yet you've apparently mastered complex and demanding skills and subjects of which most civilians have little knowledge."

"I'm self taught," she said. "When I decided to try my hand at running my father's business, I realized that I needed to learn the relevant skill set. I took a lot of contractor courses at various schools in America. Weapons, combatives, and so forth. In the end, we're all self educated. I decided to educate myself. And it helps, in these degenerate times, if a girl knows how to protect herself. Also I read and studied. It wasn't easy, but it has certainly been rewarding. It's made for a much more interesting career than my friends from college who went into accounting and public relations, and such."

The General smiled. "Besides your accomplishments in the field of military contracting, I'm told that you have other interests as well. That you have considerable power and influence, and that you also provide some unique services for other powerful and influential people. In Virginia, I believe."

"You've heard of the House". _Because I arranged for you to find out about it through a member of the Organization who pays you off to do business in your country. I know about your dirty habits, and your violence and sadism, because I see the intelligence reports. Now nibble on the bait, and take the hook._

"Yes. Is what I've heard true?"

"Well, the only way to answer that question would be to see for yourself." She opened her briefcase, and took out a bracelet with a bar code on it. She placed it on the coffee table.

"There will be a party at the House in two weeks time. If you wish to see for yourself . This will get you in."

He picked up the bracelet and examined it. "Thank you," he said. "I look forward to it. I have heard the most amazing stories."

" I think you'll find the truth even more amazing. And I'm glad you came to me, because you'll fit right in with our very select membership. I'll give you a personal tour when you come to help you get oriented to...everything we offer." She started to close up her briefcase, then stopped. "I know you're a busy man," she said, "and I really can't take up much of your time. But, may I ask you a question?"

"Of course," he said.

"I understand you're here in part because you hope to acquire new aircraft."

"Yes," he replied. "We hope to purchase your new Silent Eagle fighter when it becomes available for export. Our security situation is quite bad, and getting worse. We urgently need to improve our air force. I'm hoping your government will look favorably on our request."

"I'm sure you're aware," said Eliza, "that those aircraft, being very advanced, will require a great deal of maintenance to keep them battle ready. You'll probably need to contract out the training for your maintenance people, and perhaps even the maintenance itself until your own personnel can be trained up. In addition to our other services, ZR Security can arrange a maintenance package for fighter aircraft, and for other advanced weapons as well. Missiles, electronic warfare, and so forth. We can provide you with experienced mechanics and electronics specialists who have served in NATO air forces. They can keep your planes in the air, and at a very reasonable price. I hope, when you do acquire new fighter planes, that you'll keep us in mind." *

"I'd be very interested in seeing some numbers," the General replied.

Eliza opened her briefcase again, and took out a sheaf of papers. "Of course," she said. "Let me show you what we can do for you."

IV

Ryan drove down the interstate, the low morning sun in his eyes. He had a safe house in New York, which he maintained under the name Aaron Delaney. He had the key on the key ring he carried. He did not have Aaron Delaney's New York driver's license or any of his other ID documents, which he had been forced to leave behind at the safe house in North Carolina. Nor did he have the ID he'd been carrying in North Carolina, which named him as Michael Pruitt. That was the name he'd rented the North Carolina safe house under, and with that safe house blown, he had to be someone else. So for now he was Anthony McCaffery, with a Virginia driver's license. He'd had that one in the bugout bag he kept in the truck for emergencies, and Anthony McCaffery he'd have to remain until he could obtain papers making him someone else.

He'd stopped for coffee and waffles at a 24 hour place somewhere along the way. The coffee might help him stay awake. Though he was hungry, he'd decided against a large meal, which might make him more sleepy than he already was. He'd been driving through the night without rest, and though he was desperate to reach New York, he kept his speed down. With a truckload of stolen guns, ammo, and gear, he didn't dare risk a traffic stop. He occasionally opened the window, and let the blast of cold air hit his face to help him stay alert.

At least now it was daylight. The worst part of the drive had come between midnight and dawn. Fatigue and fear for the people he loved had preyed on his mind, and the long lonely hours of darkness left him plenty of time to imagine the worst. He had checked the news on his phone at the waffle place. Apparently there were dead bodies strewn all over Judson County. There was no mention of the shootout he'd had with those Organization hit men. He was pretty sure he'd got at least one of them, but they had probably taken any bodies with them.

The high point of the news was seeing Mike And Max. There had been some sort of press conference late in the day on the courthouse steps. He caught Mike answering a reporter's question. "...there appears to have been some sort of cult activity at the house. However, there was also a shootout. We think a victim may have escaped, but we haven't been able to locate them yet. We aren't sure how many are dead yet. The killing of Mr ans Mrs. Ranson may have been cult related, but we don't know that. We aren't ruling anything out, and the investigation is ongoing. Anyone having information.."

 _Cult? What the hell? Ranson wasn't killed by any cult._

He could see Max in the background. He couldn't see much of her, but he thought she looked tired.

Rather than listen to the various "experts" paid to speculate, Ryan had gotten back on the road. He found that the closer he got, the more anxious he became. It looked like that press conference had been sometimes yesterday afternoon. Maybe they'd be home by now.

He squinted against the morning glare. He realized he'd never been so afraid in his life.

V

" I think I should tell Gwen," said Max.

"Are you sure?" Mike asked. "She's going to be scared. There's not going to be much she can do, except keep looking over her shoulder. "

"I know. It bothers me. But the more I think about it, the more I think she has a right to know. She's a potential target just like us. And so is Ryan Junior. She has to keep a lookout, from now on. If it wasn't for Ranson getting killed, I'd say don't tell her. But now that they know Ryan's alive, we have to assume the worst."

They were at breakfast. They'd gotten home after midnight, and slept about three hours. Mike was finishing up his coffee while Max placed the dirty dishes in the sink. "So the plan is," Mike said, "I get the phones and you check on Gwen."

"Right," Max replied. "I'll tell her, and on the way back I'll swing by the vet and pick up Darby. You get us some phones. Then we call Ryan."

"Where's Wayne Jarrett's phone?" Mike asked.

"I've got it," Max replied.

"OK. Maybe we should stick together."

"We can cover more ground if we spilt up, and we don't have much time. " She turned to face him. "Promise me something."

"What?" he asked.

"If anything happens to me, promise me that you'll take care of Gwen and little Ryan."

"Don't talk like that," he said sharply. "It makes me think of Ryan, telling us to look after each other the day they executed Joe. Ryan wasn't expecting to come back, and if he did, I don't think he expected to have a life after Joe."

"I told you before that I'm not quitting on you. Or us. But it's never been like this before. Gwen and Ryan Junior are all alone. We're all they have, and I'm afraid of someone using them to strike at us or Ryan. So I need to hear you say it."

He stood, walked to her, and put his arms around her. "I said I would always be there for you. That includes Gwen and Ryan Junior now. . Because we're a family. I'll be there. For them, and for you. I promise. And you promise me that you'll be careful."

"I will," she said, smiling. "And you do the same."

"I will. I promise to be healthy and in one piece when you walk down the aisle."

"I'll hold you to that," she said.

She kissed him, reluctantly let go of him, and went to the closet. She took out her shoulder holster and put it on, followed by her suit jacket, overcoat, and a warm scarf. "See ya," she said to Mike, and then she turned and walked out into the hallway.

She took the elevator down, made her way to the front door, and stepped out into the morning cold. She looked around, scanning the area for anyone loitering. She saw no one, walked to her car, cautiously looking in the back seat before opening the door. One more scan of the area, and then she got in, started the car, and drove off. As she turned right out of the U shaped court surrounded by apartment buildings, she noticed, in her rear view mirror, a dark blue Impala pulling out of the road behind her. . It was a short dead end road that led to another apartment building. She headed towards the main road, bearing right at a fork. The Impala was behind her, at a discreet distance. OK, so maybe it's just someone else leaving to go to work. Relax. She reached the main road, and turned left. She checked her rear view mirror. The Impala was turning left as well. _It's a coincidence. Calm down._ As she headed towards the Turnpike, she saw the Impala drop back. She tried picking up speed, slowly, gradually, until she was about five miles an hour over the speed limit. So did the Impala. _No. It's not a coincidence. You're being tailed._

What to do? There was no way of knowing who they were, or how many they might be. She would reach the Turnpike shortly. She couldn't call Mike. His phone was tapped, and they'd get every word. Trying to lose them on the road would likely be futile, especially if they, whoever they were, had more than one unit on her. Worse, even trying would alert them that they'd been made.

The best time to lose surveillance is at takeaway. On the move, the opposition is alert. Stop moving for a while, let them relax, and maybe they'd get careless. No one can be alert all the time. So where should she go? _Assume the worst. They know your routine. So if this was a typical morning, where would I go?_ She'd be arriving at the Bureau shortly before nine. But before work, she'd work out. So the Turnpike would take her towards Manhattan, and her choice of Gwen's, or the Bureau, or the gym. So she'd head for the gym.

She kept up her five miles an hour over the speed limit until she was on the Turnpike. She didn't want to give these people any indication that they'd been made. Once on the Turnpike, she kept her speed slightly above the limit. She needed to get to the gym soon, and start executing her plan. Minutes were precious now. As she expected, the Impala turned the same direction as she did, and matched her speed, keeping what the driver must have assumed was a safe distance. _Keep alert. See if they change cars. They probably have more than one unit._

The next twenty minutes were nerve wracking. She pulled into the parking lot at the gym, and saw the Impala park in a slot up the street. She'd lost sight of it for a few minutes, so maybe there was as second unit, and they had swapped positions for a while. Or maybe she had just lost sight of the Impala for a while. But there it was again, the same blue Impala, and she was guessing they weren't here to work out. She unlatched her trunk, exited the car, and walked to the back, carefully keeping her eyes off the Impala up the street. She opened the trunk, and took out the black nylon bag. She closed the trunk, and walked toward the gym door. _Please think this is gym stuff. Please give me a few minutes. Just a few minutes._ As she reached the door, she realized that her heart was already pounding as if she'd been straining every muscle.

There weren't a lot of people in this early in the morning. As she walked toward the locker room, she waved at Jackie, a blonde instructor with a short, bed head haircut. Jackie was watching a fortyish woman doing shoulder exercises with hand weights, and reminding her to resist the weights on the way down, and not just exert herself when lifting them. .Jackie had put Max through her paces often enough. She ran triathalons, and no one could really keep up with her.

Max reached the locker room, and was thankful to find it empty. She opened a locker, and put her phone in it. Then she opened up the bag, pulled out one of the burner phones she had set aside earlier for such an emergency, and placed a call to Jim Woloszyn.

"Jim Woloszyn"

"Good morning, sir. I'm from Singleton Security. You've been selected to receive a free home security system."

"I see," Jim replied. "I assume you want me to take possession immediately."

"Yes sir," said Max. "It's very important to protect the people we love."

"I agree. I'll pick up my prize right away."

"Thank you sir," Max said, her voice trembling with relief. "Thank you so very much."

She hung up, and put the burner phone in the locker along with her regular phone. Then she began to quickly undress.

V

Derek sat in a restaurant picking over the remains of his scrambled eggs and hash browns, and enjoying a second cup of coffee. He was looking at his phone, checking the news reports. He had the names of the guys he'd killed in North Carolina, but recognized none of them. And the body count from Judson County was still rising. He switched to reading other news when his phone began to buzz. The call was from Sarah Marloth. Shit.

"Hi Sarah," he said.

"Derek," she answered. "I know I'm probably calling at a bad time, but could you come over? I'd like to discuss something with you. I'm still in the apartment. I can't go back to that house."

"Sure," he said. "I'll come over."

VI

"That's how it's done," said John DiPaulo, as he leaned back in the driver's side seat. "She never knew we were here."

"Are you sure?" Gary Burnworth replied. "She sped up a little before we got to the turnpike."

"She's probably in a hurry. They think she's meeting someone later."

"How do they know?" Burnworth asked.

"She changed her travel plans suddenly," John said. "I don't know everything, but word is they've had their eyes on her for a while. Apparently a key witness the task force was interested in got blown away, and they suspect a leak."

"They suspect Max? No way."

"Yes, way," said John. "Why not Max?"

"I just can't believe she'd sell out."

"I do. I mean, look at it this way. Moles don't exactly carry around a sign that says 'I'm a mole'. Besides, she got hired because of her uncle, or because she's a woman, or whatever."

"That's a bunch of crap," Burnworth replied.

"You'd be surprised."

"So you're the great expert on women. And moles. And surveillance."

"At least I didn't lose her at takeaway," John said. "Watch, and listen, and you'll learn something."

"Honestly, I think I'm learning something, but mostly I'm learning about you. I bet you never talked this kind of shit to Mike," Burnworth said.

John shot him a disgusted look. "No, I never talked like this to Mike. What I did tell him went in one ear and out the other."

VII

Max put her shoulder holster on, and then reached into the bag for the leather motorcycle jacket inside. She had put her now discarded pantsuit in her locker, along with her shoes and the two phones. She was now dressed in the clothes she had packed earlier in the bag, jeans, fleece lined boots, and a flannel shirt. She had thermal underwear on beneath the jeans and shirt, since expected to be out in the cold for some time. She had pinned her hair up, and covered it with a navy blue watch cap. Sunglasses and gloves completed the ensemble.

The problem now was the bag. She couldn't carry it out with her, since whoever was watching would see, Which meant that she'd have to leave stuff behind, and she might need all of it. Time to pick and choose. She took the Smith & Wesson 442 that she had kept as a hideout piece during her NYPD days, and stuck it in her jacket pocket. The speed strip with it's five extra rounds she put in her back pocket. The knife, with its blade folded, would ride inside her boot. She took the envelope of cash. She put burner phones in her coat pockets, and the phone they had taken off Wayne Jarrett as well. She also found space for a couple of energy bars. She might need calories. She put a Leatherman tool in the pocket of her jeans, along with a cigarette lighter. She left behind the paracord and the first aid kit, No room. She took a packet of wet wipes, and a flashlight. There were a couple of spare ammo boxes in the bag, but she could find no room. It wouldn't do to leave those lying around, so she put them in her locker. She had two spare mags for the Glock on her shoulder holster. That gave her 45 rounds of 9mm, and 10 rounds of .38 for the Smith. It would have to do. The bottled water would have to stay behind.

Time to go. She closed up her locker, and left the bag with it's remaining contents lying on the floor. She walked out of the locker room, hoping that Jackie would be busy and not notice her, and that no one would come chasing after her yelling that she forgot her bag. She was almost to the front door. Despite the cold, she had left her motorcycle jacket unzipped. If she walked into an ambush, she could get to her Glock.

She was out the door, and walking away from the building, and from the Impala parked up the street. She walked at a steady, leisurely pace, looking straight ahead. She got farther from the gym, and was soon nearly to the corner.

VIII

"Someone's coming out," Burnworth said.

They watched as the woman in the leather jacket, boots, and watch cap exited the building, turned, and walked away from them.

"That's not her," John said. "Just some dyke."

IX

Max rounded the corner, and once out of sight of the Impala looked back. No one. For a moment, she felt exultant. The best thing to do now was to remain on foot until she could hail a cab. That wasn't ideal, since cab fare was expensive and would quickly eat into her limited supply of cash. She couldn't use her plastic without giving away her location. But the subway or any kind of public transit meant video cameras. Best to avoid those as much as she could. She reached for another burner phone. She still couldn't call Mike, but she had Ryan's contact number.

"Hello," a familiar voice said.

"Ryan," she said, as if she might have been expecting someone else. "Ryan it's Max. Are you OK? God, it's good to hear your voice. Where are you?"

"I'm on my way to New York," he said. "I'm driving, so I can't be there for a couple of hours."

"Listen," she said. "I was followed this morning. I'm not sure who it was, but I lost them."

"Followed?"

"Yes," she said. "The guy who runs the task force is a mole. His name is Miles Galen. I think he's been setting me up. I packed a bugout bag, and ditched my car. I'm using a burner, but I can't call Mike. I'm sorry I led them to you. It was my fault."

"It's OK," Ryan said. "Don't blame yourself. You didn't know. Tell me where you are, I'll pick you up."

"Not yet," she said. "I need to be sure I'm clean. Mike is picking up some burners. He's going to call you. I've moved Gwen. She's safe for a while. A day, maybe two, but no longer, so we have to work fast. Tell Mike I'm going to do what we talked about. I'm going after Coleman. Tell Mike I love him."

"What the hell are you talking about? Max, for God's sake, wait until I can get there. You need backup."

"I'll be OK," she said. Call me at 646-206-1560. It's a burner. I'll make sure I'm clean. We'll meet up. Have you got another number?"

A pause on the other end. "252-299-8257," he said. "Max I have a safe house in the New York area. We can meet up there later."

"OK. When Mike calls, tell him I'm alright. Will you do that?"

"I'll tell him. Just be careful, and don't do anything stupid. Wait for me."

"I can do this," Max said. "I have to. Call me when you're here and we'll meet up." She ended the call, and tossed the burner in a trash can. Her first order of business was to start running a surveillance detection route, and make sure she was no longer being followed. Only when she was sure she had lost whoever was tailing her could she risk going after Coleman, or meeting Ryan.

X

Ryan stared at the phone in his hand, stewing in a mixture of fear and impotent rage. He was so focused on the phone in his hand, and so sick with worry, that he began to drift into the other lane. An eighteen wheeler loaded with concrete pipe blasted its disapproval at him. He swerved back into his lane.

"People really should stay off the bloody phone when they drive," Joe said. "And I fear you have been a very bad influence on your niece."

XI

"Thank you for coming," Sarah said. "Can I offer you anything? Coffee?"

"No thank you," Derek replied. "I just had breakfast."

"Have a seat, please," she said. "Make yourself comfortable."

Derek sat down on the couch. The place was starting to look permanent. Sarah had moved a lot of furniture from her and Adrian's home in here.

She sat in a chair at the end of the coffee table. "I'm putting the house up for sale," she said. "I can't go back there"

"I understand," Derek replied. "You're staying here permanently?"

"I'm here for the foreseeable future."

"It's a nice place," he said. " Not quite as much space. Fewer amenities."

"If that's your way of saying that I won't have a playroom in the basement where I can kill, well, that was more Adrian's thing than mine. I have most of my fun at the House."

"So, what's on your mind?" Derek asked.

"I assume you've heard about the vote."

"I have," he said.

"I'm very sorry she survived. But I should have known. She and the Chairman were both Strauss students."

"Yeah, it's like a club," he said, smiling. "All for one, and one for all. They've probably got a secret handshake and magic decoder rings."

"I'd like to ask you something," said Sarah. "Was Eliza in contact with Strauss? Maybe a year ago, or a little over a year?"

"Strauss was in jail a year ago," Derek replied. "You know that."

"He had attorneys."

" You need to understand something," Derek said. "Whatever beef you've got with Eliza, I'm not a party to it. I don't want to be caught in the middle of anything. I just work here."

"Did Strauss, or his attorneys, contact her? Did Theo?"

"Eliza doesn't tell anyone everything she does, not even me. Hell, especially not me. If she was contacted by Strauss, or Theo, or space aliens for that matter, I'll be the last to know. Why are you asking me about this?"

"Did she keep a dossier on Max Hardy?" Sarah asked.

"Of course. She had dossiers on all of Ryan Hardy's people, starting from the time he took a swan dive off that bridge."

"This was before," Sarah said. "It was over a year old."

"OK, you've lost me."

Sarah sat for a moment, looking at Derek intently. "Ok, I'm just going to ask you, to your face. Did Eliza have Adrian killed?"

"Sweet Jesus. Ryan Hardy killed Adrian. Why would Eliza do it?"

"Because Adrian smuggled encrypted files out of RCS on a flash drive. He was digging for dirt on Eliza. I don't know what was on that drive, but whoever killed him made him open his safe, and as far as I know, that flash drive has never been found. So maybe she had Adrian killed and removed any evidence he had on her. Derek, she had a motive."

"Holy shit. You mean he actually took sensitive material off site? Was Jill Mallory in on this caper?"

"Yes. Look, I know I should have said something sooner, but I didn't know who to tell. If Ryan Hardy really does have that flash drive..."

"He does," Derek said. "He really, really does. What's this about a dossier on Max Hardy?"

"Adrian said he had seen a file on her that was over a year old. Her daily routine. The code to her alarm. It was dated from before Strauss died. I don't know if it's on the flash drive or not."

Derek's phone buzzed for attention. "Excuse me," he said. He reached into his pocket and took out his phone. The screen showed that he had a call from Cole. Which meant two things. First, the shit had officially hit the fan. Cole was the code name for the Organization's panic line. Second, Eliza had her phone turned off.

"Sarah," he said, "I have to go. Thank you for telling me this."

"You won't tell Eliza?"

"No. But if this totally blows up, and it just might, I won't have to."

XII

Derek sat in his car, and called the number for Cole, which actually rang in an office down the hall from Eliza's where someone was on duty in case Eliza was out of position and couldn't be reached. Derek talked to the person on duty and got the number the panic call had come from. A check of his phone then revealed that the caller was Galen. He called Galen's number.

"This is Cole, returning your call."

"Max Hardy has disappeared."

"Disappeared?"

"Yes. I had a surveillance team on her. Two units. She vanished right in front of them."

"Whiskey tango foxtrot?" Derek asked. "Surveillance? She was going to walk into your office to be arrested. And two units? She's way too streetwise for that."

"I had her on a watch list. She and Weston changed their travel plans without notifying anyone. I ordered surveillance in case she was meeting someone."

"Meeting someone? Galen, the woman is being framed. By you."

"I'm not supposed to know she's being framed," Galen said angrily. "She changes her travel plans, I'm supposed to ask why or it looks suspicious. And I can't reach Eliza. What do you want me to do?"

"Your job, dipshit. Get her ass off the street before she becomes a problem."

"You'll tell Eliza?" Galen asked.

"Yeah, I'll tell her the next time she recruits a mole to try to recruit a smarter one."

XIII

Mike paced the floor waiting for Max to return. He'd returned from buying the burner phones to an empty apartment. He waited, and then decided to call on his regular phone to check on her. No answer. He tried Gwen. No answer. . A check of the vet revealed that Max had never picked up Darby.

He thought back to when he had proposed. . It had been less then forty-eight hours, but seemed like a lifetime ago. _I never should have let her go alone. She was in a hurry. I shouldn't have listened. And I can't even trust the Bureau now._ He thought back to what he'd once told her. once told her. I'll always be there for you, he'd said. It hit him now, like a punch in the gut, just what that meant. Because he made that promise knowing that he hadn't been there when it mattered. . He'd hurt her by leaving her for a year. Then he'd left her to be beaten senseless by Daisy Locke. There was an unspoken part of that promise he'd made so lightly. I'll always be there for you from now on. Next time will be different.

 _Well, next time is here already. And it damn well better be different. I left her, and I wasn't there for her. Twice. So I better be there this time. Because the Universe doesn't normally grant fourth chances. Max, wherever you are, whatever happens, you will not face this alone. I swear to God._

He took one of the burners he'd bought, and called the number Ryan had given them.

"Ryan, it's Mike. I can't get hold of Max."

"She called me on a burner," Ryan said. "Someone tried to tail her. She's lost them, but she couldn't call you. She said that she's going after Coleman, whoever he is. Do you know what the hell she was talking about?"

"Yeah, I know who he is. A guy with information. We need to meet face to face. Where are you?"

"Stuck in a traffic jam. There's a jackknifed truck. I'm on my way to New York. I should be there in two or three hours. Write this down."

He gave Mike the number of the burner phone Max had given him. "I don't know how many burners she has, so don't waste them."

"She's got burners?"

"Yeah, she said she had a bugout bag that she had packed. She thought a mole in the Bureau was setting her up."

"Jesus," Mike said. "She didn't even tell me. Listen, I can't contact Gwen either."

"Max said she was safe. She said she'd moved her. Didn't she tell you?"

"No, she kept her cards up her sleeve. Gee, I wonder where she learned that trick?"

"Well let's hope she knows what she's doing. I'll call you when I get to the safe house. We'll meet up, and plan from there."

Mike had been pacing while he talked to Ryan. He was now standing near the window. He saw a convoy of vehicles, including two SWAT vans pulling into the parking lot below. The doors opened, and HRT agents came spilling out. "Ryan, I gotta go," he said. "The Bureau is here. It looks like a raid."

He hung up, and opened the apartment door. He didn't think they'd actually smash it in with a battering ram, but he had known HRT to get a little too enthusiastic. Minutes later, a column of agents in SWAT gear was outside his door. He heard a voice, JJ's say "Be cool, everyone. There won't be any trouble." JJ stepped forward, and knocked on the door. "Mike? I'm sorry, but we've got a warrant for Max's arrest. Espionage and murder. You have to come downtown."

"Am I under arrest too?"

"No, but you have to come downtown. I'm sorry."

"I'll get my coat," Mike said.

XIV

Mike stood in Shelby's office. Shelby sat behind his desk, looking like a man hearing bad medical news from his doctor. Galen stood next to it, holding some papers in his hand, and explaining their contents like a schoolboy presenting a book report that he's sure will get an A because he didn't write it himself, or even bother to read the book beyond the dust jacket.

"So the upshot of it is that the murder weapon was found in her car after she abandoned it outside the gym. The eyewitness descriptions tally. And no one had eyes on Max when Leach was killed. And these bank accounts, that you say you didn't know she had. Where do you think this money came from?"

"She's been doing a lot of business on ebay. I had no idea she was doing so well."

"Let me ask you this," Galen continued. "Why did you change your travel plans? You came home on an earlier flight"

"Max suddenly remembered that she left the water running in the bathroom. She's bad about that."

"You better start answering, smartass," Galen said.

"Actually," Mike said,"I don't have to answer any questions at all. And even if I did, you're not interested in answers. Because you've already made the answers up."

"Tell him," Galen said to Shelby.

"Weston, you're suspended, pending a review," said Shelby.

"Surprise, surprise," Mike replied. "Do you believe any of this, sir?"

"It doesn't matter what I believe," Shelby said. "I've got my orders. Give me your gun and your badge. A date will be set for the hearing, and you will be notified."

Mike took out his FBI credentials and badge and placed them on Shelby's desk. He drew his gun from the holster, and locked the slide back so the round in the chamber fell on the desk next to his credentials. Then he dropped out the magazine and placed the gun and magazine on the desk as well. "I'd like to get some personal effects out of my locker," he said.

"Sure," Shelby said. "DiPaulo and Burnworth will go with you."

XV

Mike walked into the locker room, DiPaulo and Burnworth close behind. Dennis Fuchida was there, getting a raid jacket out of his locker. "I'm sorry, bro," he said to Mike. "For whatever it's worth, I don't believe one damn bit of it. Max would never sell out."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence," Mike said, warmly.

"If she's got nothing to hide," John said, "Why did she shake me and Barnburner off?"

"That was you?" Mike asked. "I guess the best of us can have a bad day. But then, we aren't talking about the best of us, now are we?"

"You're an asshole, Weston," John replied. "I just wonder what she's planning."

'Beats me," said Mike. "But if her plan was to make you look like a total dickhead, I'd say it worked brilliantly."

XVI

Derek was in his car, on his way to Fairfax, when he got the call from Eliza. "Hi there," he said. "Nice of you to take time out from your busy schedule and check in."

"The meeting's over," she said. "What's going on?"

"Funny you should ask," said Derek. "I'm having what could be described as one of those days."

XVII

Max walked towards a coffee shop. Her breath fogged in the cold air. She'd been walking around, checking carefully for surveillance, and was finally sure that she was clean. She needed some hot coffee and carbs. But first, she had to take care of one more item of business.

She took out the phone that she and Mike had found, and called Zack Coleman.

It rang four times, and she was afraid he wasn't going to answer. On the fifth ring he picked up. "Hello?", he said cautiously.

"Mr Coleman," she said. "Max Hardy. Remember me? The reason I'm calling is that I found a phone that belonged to Wayne Jarrett. I believe you knew him. Well, he's lost his phone, and I was wondering if you could see that it gets returned to him. I'd hate for the wrong person to end up with it."

Musical Interlude - Fight Or Flight by Abney Park

* Only a few nations on Earth produce advanced fighter planes, but many nations use them. If you can't build them, you buy them from someone who can. It's not unusual to outsource maintenance on advanced weapons to private contractors, especially in the Middle East.

America has a law called the Foreign Corrupt Practices Act intended to keep American companies, especially defense companies, from offering bribes to help sell their products or services. Eliza is breaking it. Most countries actually tolerate their defense contractors using bribes in foreign countries since making fighters, tanks, missiles, or what have you for export provides jobs back home. The Foreign Corrupt Practices Act was passed because of the F-104 Starfighter, a fighter plane America began producing partly for export back in the 1950s. Large numbers were sold for export, often by bribery, but the plane had such an appalling safety record that it became the butt of jokes. The joke in West Germany was "What's the cheapest way to acquire a Starfighter?" Answer: "Buy a piece of land and wait for one to crash."

The Silent Eagle is a proposed variant to the F-15E Strike Eagle intended to provide a fighter with stealth and other highly advanced features at an affordable cost. (Affordable being understood to be relative here) The F-35, a stealthy fighter that is supposed to enter frontline service in a few years, has become one of the great military procurement scandals of all time, and though the plane hasn't been cancelled (And probably can't be due to political considerations) alternatives are being sought. America has been working on the F-35 longer than it took America to land a man on the Moon, and it still doesn't work right.

None of this has anything to do with The Following, but it's kind of interesting (At least to me), and shows one of the ways that the House, if it existed, could be used.

Using the House as a way to manipulate, corrupt, or blackmail influential people was a fairly obvious possibility, and consistent with what little information we were ever given about Eliza. I'm sure we would have seen it used as a plot device in Season 4.

Max Hardy's Bugout Bag

I said we might be returning to the subject of bugout.

A speed strip is a rubber strip with holes in it that hold cartridges for a revolver. It makes for a faster reload. You can use it to reload two cartridges at once by lining two of the cartridges up with two of the empty chambers in the cylinder, inserting both cartridges at once, and then twisting the rubber strip so the cartridges come loose.

A Leatherman tool is multitool that includes pliers, wire cutters, a wire stripper, screwdrivers, scissors, a can opener, a knife, and more besides. It costs less than a good fixed blade knife, and it folds up and drops into a pocket, or you can clip it to your belt. I find uses for mine every week. No action hero should be without one.

Paracord is short for parachute cord. It's a kind of thin, tough nylon rope used in parachutes.

Other items in a bugout bag can include sanitary items like toothpaste and a toothbrush, a comb or hairbrush, and, if you're female, whatever you need to take care of your monthly. You may not have time to stop.

Max Hardy doesn't smoke, but a cigarette lighter can come in handy. You may need to start a fire. Or set something on fire.

About That Dossier

The references to the dossier may seem to contradict something I said in earlier chapter notes, but like Max I have to keep a few cards up my sleeve. One of the minor pleasures of fanfic is that you get to try to fill in gaps in the canon.

We were never told who compiled the dossier on Max Hardy that Julianna gave to Kyle and Daisy. Which brings me to something I didn't discuss earlier, something which I came to think of as the Strauss B hypothesis. So far as we know, Strauss turned to his former students in his hour of need. It's possible that he could have hired people to put together that dossier. He wasn't a poor man, but he would have had to pay very well indeed to find someone willing and able to carry out surveillance of a Federal Agent on behalf of a known serial killer likely headed for a lifetime in supermax.

Strauss turned to Theo for passports, and to Kyle and Daisy for a hit team. Now who, among his former students that we know of, had the means to carry out highly sophisticated, manpower intensive surveillance of an FBI agent, and information about how to contact her was in a coded book in Julianna's possession?

We may be back to this later.


	14. Chapter 14 - Full Ryan

Disclaimer: It's fanfic, meaning I don't own anything or make any money off of it. It's a labor of love. Please don't sue me.

This chapter is rated T. Apart from some language, I don't think there's much in this chapter that wouldn't pass muster on an episode of The Following. If you're old enough to watch The Following, you're old enough to read this. But if you've ever watched The Following, you know that, well, it's The Following, and bad things happen.

Chapter 14 - Full Ryan

Gwen fumbled with the infant seat in the back of Jim Wolozsyn's Explorer. . Stress had turned her fingers into flippers. She lifted the seat, with Ryan Junior still inside while Jim lifted the back door of the Explorer and removed the bag that he had allowed Gwen to hastily pack before leaving her apartment. They were parked in front of Jim's apartment building for long enough to unload, and then Jim would have to move the Explorer into a nearby parking deck. Jim, bag in hand, hustled Gwen inside and into an elevator. His apartment was on the third floor.

When they were in the elevator, Gwen asked "Did Max say what this is about?"

"She said that it was on account of something she was working on, but she didn't give any details. Something she's doing that's classified. She asked me to take you in for a couple of days. Now when we get inside my apartment, I'll lock you in, and then go move my vehicle. Do not, repeat, do not open the door for anyone until I get back. There's a bag in the living room that Max gave me full of diapers, baby formula, stuff like that. You won't need to go out. Do not answer or use the phone. Is that clear?"

"Yes," Gwen nodded. "But if she thought I needed protection, why didn't she go to the FBI?"

Jim looked at her uneasily. "I'm sure she had her reasons," he replied.

"You worked with her before?"

"Yes," Jim said. "When she was in the NYPD."

"Oh my God. She doesn't know who in the Bureau to trust."

"Relax," Jim replied. " You're in good hands. I live alone. I'll call in sick tomorrow. Max and I go way back, and I trust her. . I don't know who these people are, but if she and Mike are going after them, well, I know who my money's on."

II

Mike paid the cabbie, got out of the taxi he had taken after leaving FBI headquarters and walked towards the entrance to a mall. Galen had not warned him against leaving town, but he was sure the Bureau had eyes on him, and if he withdrew a large sum of cash from his checking account, he was pretty sure he'd be arrested and brought in for questioning. Nevertheless, his first stop was a teller machine where he withdrew $200. That much, he felt sure, wouldn't trigger alarm bells at the Bureau, but it would give him a little badly needed walking around money.

He was sure they'd have put a GPS tracker on his car. So he'd need money for cabs and public transit, at least for the moment. He wanted to call Max on one of his burners, but he wanted to do so from a place with enough ambient noise to defeat a parabolic mike. He had to get to Max somehow, but first he had to find a way to elude the prying eyes of the Bureau, and perhaps the Organization as well.

Inside, the mall was warm, crowded, and loud. Mike made his way to a fountain surrounded by benches, and sat down. The sound of the water combined with the voices of the shoppers, and the background music would give him some protection from eavesdropping. He took out a burner and called the number Ryan had given him.

"Hello?" said Max, warily.

"Hey, it's me", he said. "I thought I'd call and talk for a while. I've had a pretty busy day so far. I got hauled in for questioning. I got suspended. And I found out that the woman I love had a murder weapon planted in her car, has an offshore bank account worth two and a half million dollars and is now the object of a nationwide manhunt. So how was your morning?"

"Two point five mill? Damn. They thought Gavin Leach was only worth forty thousand. They're paying top dollar for me. I rock. Give me the number of a burner. I'll call Ryan, and have him pick you up."

"Nice to see you've kept your sense of humor," Mike said. " Ryan needs to be picking you up. In case you haven't noticed, you're in deep kimchi."

"Your kimchi is deeper than my kimchi," Max replied. "Eliza doesn't know where I am, but she knows exactly where you are. They've probably had eyes on you since you left Federal Plaza. Eliza wants a hostage. The reason I got framed and you didn't is that you were in the hospital when Ryan went in the water. That's why Eliza hasn't made a move on you yet. She'd be admitting I was set up. But she didn't get me. So her next move will be to try to snatch Gwen, if she hasn't tried already. When that doesn't work, she'll be mad enough to come after you regardless. So we have to get you some place safe. That's why Ryan is going to pick you up. Stay visible, and don't go back to the apartment."

"Where did you stash Gwen?" he asked.

"With Jim Woloszyn. His wife died of cancer about a year and a half ago. They had no children. He's going to put Gwen up for a couple of days."

"Why didn't you say something?"

"I'm sorry," she said. "You didn't believe me about Ryan. I was afraid you wouldn't believe me about this. And I was afraid I might be wrong, and...I know I should have said something. Please forgive me."

"There's nothing to forgive," he said. "You were right. But we have to get you someplace safe, too. Then we can regroup and plan our next move."

"I've already planned my next move," she said. "I'm meeting Coleman."

"You can't do that."

"I have to," she replied. "I don't know how long it will take Ryan to get to you, and we're on the clock. I'm not losing a minute."

"Listen to me," Mike said, anger in his voice for the first time. "You were right about Ryan, and I was wrong. I should have listened. You've been right all along. But you're making a mistake now. You're doing exactly what Eliza would want you to do. I know you're worried about Gwen and Ryan Junior. I know you want payback. I know you think that somehow you should have kept me from getting stabbed. But Coleman is working with others. Maybe more of those cultists, maybe Theo, and he's got every reason to kill you. You're walking into a trap."

"Whatever I'm walking into, it's with both eyes open. I love you. And I want this to be over, so we can start that family."

"I love you too," he said. "But you have to be alive to start a family"

"I will be, I promise. I'll have eyes in the back of my head. And I'll come back safe. Because I know who I have to come back to."

He recognized the words he'd spoken to her. It was only a week ago, but it seemed like a year. They'd probably given her as little reassurance then as they gave him now. He sat silently for a few seconds, imagining everything that could go wrong, knowing that she would not turn back no matter what he said. "Are you still there?" she asked.

"Yeah. Give me Jim's phone number, so I can reach him. "

She read off a number. "Tell him you're from Singleton Security. I'll see you soon. You're the love of my life. "

"And you're the love of mine. Call me as soon as this meeting is over. Ryan and I will come get you."

"I will. Bye."

She broke the connection. "I guess you went full Ryan after all," he said quietly. He sat there, feeling numb and helpless. The last time he had felt like this was when he had seen her wheeled into the ER after a savage beating at Daisy Locke's hands. It had hit him, with the force of a punch to the gut, exactly what it would mean if she didn't make it. He resisted the urge to slam the burner in his hand to the floor. _Hold it together. For her.._ He thought about what she'd said in North Carolina. _There's no calling for backup now. There's no backup to call for. We're it._ So maintain. Because when she calls, there won't be anyone else. You're it.

He went to find a trash can to get rid of the burner.

III

Derek had no office, and would have refused one had it been offered to him. But there was a corner of the equipment storage room at Fairfax where he had a locker, and a cheap particle board desk with a computer to which he alone had the password. In the locker was some personal gear, including a cleaning kit for his pistol, spare mags, holsters, and some personal effects. A small portable refrigerator (Padlocked) contained a bag of coffee beans, half and half, and a supply of diet soda. There was also a radio controlled rat with glowing red eyes that ran along the floor on wheels, it's body made of dark brown hard plastic, and life sized. The rat and its remote control unit normally sat on the desk on the rare occasions when Derek worked there. It made occasional runs around the room and up the hall. Recently he had bought a slice of fake pizza that was actually a catnip toy, and it sat next to the rat.

So it wasn't exactly an office, with its shelves of electronic gear, safes, toolkits, and a couple of workbenches. But this corner was, if not Derek's office, at least his stuff and his space, and he was territorial.

At the moment, Derek was in his territory, reading over the crime scene reports from North Carolina. Apparently Eliza had put in a call to Galen. What she had said he did not know, but he could imagine. The reports were downloaded to his computer, and, at the moment, he was reading about the murder house that Weston and Hardy had found. Derek now realized that Wayne, the guy who drove the Land Rover, hadn't expired right away. Shit. He should have put a couple of insurance rounds into the guy, but he had been in a hurry.

Looking over the reports, he thought he had an advantage over Weston and Hardy. They didn't know about Theo. These guys were working with Theo, and they had a lot of money. Which meant Theo had a lot of money. Where was he getting it? Theo was a supremely gifted hacker, and could hack for whoever was willing to pay him. The Organization had paid him for Opticon Scintil, but he hadn't known who the job was really for. Or had he? Assume Theo was behind the Shiny attacks on the Organization. How was there money in that.? What purpose did they serve? No one knew how the Shiny worm got in at RCS. Theo could have cracked the system from outside, or someone could have carried the worm in on a memory stick. Which would mean someone at RCS was working for Theo.

His mind wandered for a moment to the stolen flash drive. If Ryan Hardy had it, he wouldn't be able to read it. He'd need someone with serious computer skills to break the encryption. He'd most likely take it to his niece. Who might already have it, for all he knew. Eliza had planned to turn her over to Milani for interrogation, but that plan was on hold since Max had pulled that disappearing act at the gym. Derek was glad he wasn't Galen, making excuses and apologies to Eliza.

His monitor showed an inventory of everything found at the murder house, and at the abandoned mill nearby. He scanned down the list. Surgical instruments, assorted edged weapons and power tools, a bunch of books about the occult...nothing that gave him much of an indication of what these people were doing working with Theo. He scrolled to the back page of the inventory, and began reading over the list of the personal effects that had been found on the men he'd killed. As he carefully checked the list, Derek realized that he'd found what he was looking for.

IV

Mike decided to stay put while waiting for Ryan's call. He wasn't sure how long that would take, but the noise and the crowds would still protect him from eavesdropping. If Ryan failed to call in a reasonable time, the multiple exits would give him some chance of ditching whatever surveillance there might be. He window shopped, and stopped in the food court for a steak and cheese sandwich and fries. He swallowed it whole, never tasting it. He felt guilty about sitting in the food court eating while Max was alone, hunted, and without backup. That Max had chosen this instead of doing the sensible thing and linking up with Ryan didn't help. She had once said something about him having a hard head. Takes one to know one, he thought sourly. He alternated between cursing her stubbornness and worrying himself sick. Worry was winning by a nose when one of his burners buzzed for his attention.

"Ryan?"

"Yeah, it's me. Max called. She refused to tell me where she was."

"She wouldn't tell me either," Mike said. "Is she on a suicide mission?"

"Let's hope not. Can you be in Hoboken in two hours?"

"Yeah"

"Good. Plan to ditch any vehicle you take. There's a music store called Canfield Music at 1216 Welles. Go there. When you get there, look at some guitars, and then call a cab. When the cab gets there, call me at 336-881-7429, and tell me you're leaving. Then tell the cabbie to take you the Washburn building at 517 Stewart. He'll take you down Canfield. You stay on the phone, and keep a lookout. I'll be in a dark blue Nissan Altima coming the opposite direction. You'll suddenly change your mind, pay the cabbie, and bail. Get in the Altima. Got all that?"

"Yeah"

"Get moving"

V

Max had been to the Globe Studio Apartments l before, but never as a guest. Her past visits had been as a cop in the NYPD. She had been called here for a wide assortment of complaints, including muggings, a stabbing, and a dead hooker who had been garotted on the third floor. That case was still unsolved. Parts of the Lower East Side were gentrifying, but gentrification hadn't made down here yet. She wasn't sure what it would take to get this area ready for upscale, but carpet bombing might be a start.

The place was New York the way it as supposed to look in old movies, brick, five stories, with fire escapes and window air conditioners visible on the front. It was picturesque in photographs. In real life it was dirty, run down, and infested with rats, cockroaches, and predators of the two legged variety. The clientele ranged from people checking in for a few hours without baggage to foreign students without much money who needed a cheap place to stay and realized they'd made a mistake.

She'd chosen this place for the meeting since she wouldn't need a credit card to check in. This would take a sizable chunk of her cash, but using her plastic would be broadcasting her location. Plus she knew the area reasonably well. She had to meet Coleman on ground of her choosing.

Obviously she hadn't chosen this ground for safety or sanitation. The queen sized bed had one pillow, and was covered with a thin purple blanket with holes in it. The paint was peeling off the walls. There was a dead cockroach on the floor of the tiny kitchen, and Max had no doubt that there were plenty of live ones as well. The room was on the back of the building on the third floor, and the narrow window looked out on a vacant lot strewn with junk. A couple of large crates probably sheltered homeless people. It wasn't much, she reflected, but at least she was in out of the cold for a while.

She had left the door unlocked. It was flimsy, and could be kicked in easily. She didn't intend to be standing just on the other side of it when she said "Come in". You can shoot through a door. As Coleman entered, the door would swing to his right. There would be a small closet immediately to his left. She has closed the closet door. Once he got past the front door, he would have the tine kitchen to his right, and the living room ahead, She would stand in the living room, just around the corner after the kitchen, gun in hand. Once Coleman entered, she'd have that corner for cover, and he'd be fully exposed in the entryway, too far away to grab for her gun.

There was a knock at the door. "Who's there?" she asked.

"Howard Phillips."

She drew the Glock 19 from her shoulder holster, and took position around the corner from the kitchen, covering the door.

"Come in".

Coleman opened the door, fast and all the way. Perhaps he naively hoped Max would be waiting behind it, and he could hit her with the door and throw her off balance. Instead he stood there, his attention riveted on Max's gun, his right hand in his coat pocket.

"I want to see your hands," she said.

Coleman slowly withdrew his hand from his pocket, and moved his hands away from his sides.

"Close the door," she said. He pushed the door with his right hand, and it closed behind him.

"Step forward," said Max. Stand in the middle of this room"

Coleman stepped forward, cautiously. "I thought we were going to talk," he said, plaintively.

"We will," Max replied. "After I make sure you're not armed.. OK, stop," she said, when Coleman reached the center of the room. "Turn around, put your hands behind your head, lock your fingers together, and spread your legs."

"Am I under arrest?" he asked, as he complied.

She made no reply. Instead, she reholstered her Glock, and walked up behind him, on his right side. With her left hand, she reached up, and grasped his interlaced fingers. With her left knee, she pushed into the back of his right knee, bending his leg forward, and she pulled back on his hands, bending him backwards. Her knee remained pressed into the back of his. She wasn't holding him up, but bent as he was, he could not kick at her, or strike with his hands. The only part of his body he could hit her with was his right elbow, and she rested the back of her head on his left arm to prevent that.

She began frisking him, starting with his front. She found a phone in his inside coat pocket and tossed it onto the couch. The pocket where he had kept his hand yielded up a zippered plastic bag with a wadded up cloth inside. She suspected chloroform. She tossed it onto the floor . She began checking around his waistband, and pulled out a 9mm pistol, a Ruger LC9. "I guess the IT business has gotten rough," she commented.

"That's for protection," He said.

"Yeah, right. I'll keep you safe, Coleman. The whole time you're here." She tossed the gun away, and continued her search. She moved her right leg farther out, and bent down to check his right leg. As she did, she bent him further back by pressing forward with her knee, and pulling harder on his hands. She checked his right leg carefully, and then stood back up. "Don't move," she said.

She moved farther back, and moved up on his left side, grasping his hands with her right hand this time, and repeating the procedure. Then she shifted her right hand, and moved her knee back out of the hollow of his. She pressed her right elbow into his spine, and pulled back, keeping him bent. She planned to pat down his lower back, but at that moment, he tried to spin towards her, turning to his left. She turned with him, pulling hard on his hands and pushing her elbow into his spine. With her left hand, she grasped his left elbow and pushed down hard.

Coleman was now hopelessly off balance, and unable to recover. His spin to the left became a fall. Max let him go, stepped back, and drew her Glock. Coleman hit the floor hard. . He rolled over, and found himself looking up at the muzzle of Max's Glock 19.

"Try that again," she said, "and I'll kill you. That's your first, your last, and your only warning. Roll over. Face down on the floor, and spread 'em."

When he was spread eagled on the floor, she approached him from behind and patted down his lower back, finding a fixed blade knife in a plastic sheath. The blade was six inches long with a black oxide coating, and saw toothed near the hilt. "More protection?" she asked.

When he did not answer, the said "Get up. Sit in that chair over there." She pointed at a kitchen chair with no arms that she had places in the corner of the room. Once he had done so, she sat on the couch facing him.

"So tell me about Theo," she said.

"Who's Theo?" he asked.

Max studied him for a moment. "Do you know what I'll do to you, Coleman, if you refuse to talk?" Coleman shook his head nervously.

"Nothing. I'm gonna leave you alone. I'm going out for coffee. If you don't want to talk to me, you can talk to Eliza, but talk you will. I 've seen what she does to people who don't talk. That bitch has taken my job and my reputation. She has torn my family apart, and threatened everyone I love. So either you start talking, or I walk out of here and leave you to take the consequences of whatever the hell it is you've done. And as far as I'm concerned I'm not killing you, it's suicide."

In fact, she hadn't been sure, until now, what she'd do if Coleman refused to talk. Mike had warned her that Coleman might not flip. She had just assumed Coleman would have to cooperate, and that she'd never have to serve him up to Eliza. But sending Gwen into hiding, she realized, had done something to her. _If he doesn't talk, I'm really going to do it. Because I've got my back to the wall. Ryan Junior is an infant. I can't be the one to weaken._

Coleman looked helplessly around the room, as it searching for an exit that did not exist. "He'll kill me," he said.

"Or Eliza will," Max replied. "Or maybe, just maybe, you give me something I can use. And you get witness protection."

"There is no witness protection," he said, angrily. " Not from these people. You have no idea of their reach."

"The hell I don't. I know about Eliza, about the Organization, about that PMC she runs. I know they have people inside the Bureau. But what I don't know is your part in this. Or why you're working with Theo. What's he after?"

"Theo recruited me," Coleman said. "To help him kill Eliza. He wants revenge."

"Why you?"

"Because," said Coleman, "I'm a Strauss student. Like Theo. And Eliza."

VI

Canfield Music was located in a row of shops in Hoboken's historic downtown. Mike stood by the window, looking out for the cab he had summoned, and occasionally pretending interest in a rosewood Stratocaster. Ryan hadn't given him any details of what he had in mind, but there had to be more to it than just reversing direction by changing cars. That would throw off a private detective hired to track a cheating spouse, but the Bureau was a tougher proposition. Still, he'd trust that Ryan had something up his sleeve.

He saw the cab pulling up outside. As he stepped out into the cold, he reached for a burner and called Ryan. "I'm on the move," Mike said, when Ryan picked up.

"Good, stay on the line. Talk to me like you're having a conversation. When you cross Clinton St say that You'll be glad to be home."

"Got it."

Mike got in the cab. "The Washburn building on Stewart," he said to the driver, a slender black man in a box style knit hat.

As the cab began to move, Mike kept his eyes forward, looking for Ryan's Altima, while keeping up a pretend conversation. "But I gotta tell ya," he said, "it's been just one hell of a trip so far. And it's amazing the people you run into, that you haven't seen for a while. And you were sure you'd never see them again, but there they are."

"Yeah, it's pretty amazing all right. ," Ryan agreed. "Keep focus. We'll trip down memory lane later."

Mike kept up a running banter about how insecure jobs were these days and what the world was coming too. He was about to start a spiel about always being the last one to be told what the hell was going on, when he saw the sign for Clinton Street. "It sure will be good to be home,"he said.

"OK," Ryan replied. "The next light at the very latest. Stay alert."

Mike could see a light up ahead. It was green, but it was far enough away that it probably wouldn't be by the time they got there. He stopped talking, and pretended to listen. As they approached the light, he could see it turn yellow. A Toyota RAV 4 made it through the yellow light, just in time, and tailgating behind it, he could see a blue Nissan Altima. "Bail, now," said Ryan.

Mike broke the connection. "Change of plans, buddy," he said to the driver. "I'm getting out here." He handed the cabbie a couple of twenties. "Keep it."

He got out, leaving behind a driver who was too happy about the extravagant tip to complain about having driven all this way for no fare. He jaywalked cross the two lane road, so that he would be on the passenger side of the approaching Altima. Ryan came to a stop. As soon as Mike was in and had the door closed, Ryan took off like a shot. "It's good to see you," Mike said.

"Likewise. Hold on to your ass."

Ryan made an illegal left turn on red, to the sound of horns from irritated drivers. He headed up a four lane road, and turned left again. They were long past the historic district of Hoboken, and were now surrounded by tall office buildings. "You're going to have a hard time losing anyone," Mike observed, "if you get pulled over for driving like a maniac."

"I know what I'm doing," Ryan replied. "Has Max called?"

"Not since she said she was meeting Coleman. Who might just be working with Theo."

"WHAT?!" Ryan turned to look at Mike.

"Watch it!" Mike exclaimed, pointing at a panel truck in front of them that was slowing down.

"I'll explain later," Mike said, "just get us out of here."

Ahead was a parking deck on the right, and just beyond it, a J C Penney. Ryan turned right, onto the road between them, and then right again into the parking deck. He drove to level three, where there were a number of empty spaces, and parked within a dozen spaces of a stairwell. "Out," he said. "Head down those stairs."

Mike followed him to the stairwell, and they walked briskly down to level two, where Ryan led them across the deck, towards an F150 parked in a space along the outer wall of the parking deck. Across the way was a Macy's. "Get in," he said. "And stay down."

Mike flattened himself against the seat as best he could. He felt the F150 head downslope towards the street, then take a right turn. After about five minutes, Ryan said "OK, you can sit up. We're headed for the safe house." Mike sat up and looked around. They were headed towards the Holland Tunnel and Manhattan. "We left the deck in a different vehicle," Ryan said, "with only one guy in it."

"Where did you get the Altima?" Mike asked.

"I stole it," said Ryan. When Mike looked at him in open mouthed astonishment at having been made an accessory to grand theft auto, Ryan grinned and said "Welcome to the Dark Side, my young apprentice."

Mike stared ahead. _I guess we're all going full Ryan now._

VII

"We should have cut off the bastard's head," said Max, "and driven a stake through his heart, and buried him at crossroads at midnight. How many of you are there, anyway?"

'I don't know," Coleman replied. "Theo might know, but I don't."

"How would Theo know? And how did he know about you? How did he contact you?"

"Strauss kept a master list of his students. It was in a coded book. He gave it to one of his attorneys. Julianna something or other. Theo broke into her office and took it after she was killed. He told me about it. It was in code, but somehow or other he broke it. It led him to Eliza. He wanted new identities for him and his sister. He offered to deliver Ryan Hardy to her in exchange. But she double crossed him somehow. Anyway, he went off that bridge. The God damn bullet ricocheted off his skull. It's like nothing can kill this guy. He carjacked someone, and got out of the area."

"After that," Coleman continued, "Penney was dead, and he totally lost his shit. He chats with her on the computer. I've seen it. Anyway, he contacted me."

"How?" she asked.

"I came home from work one evening, and he was in my apartment. And he told me that I could help him, or he'd kill me. You see, I was one of Strauss' last students. Not the last, you understand, but I was with him after Eliza. I left about three months before Ryan Hardy arrested him. Theo wanted someone who had been with Strauss after Eliza, just in case she had information about his previous students. And he wanted someone who knew computers. I have a degree in computer science from Winslow University."

"Theo recruited you to infiltrate RCS," said Max. " What do they do for the Organization?"

"They do personnel management software for the government. And that software comes bundled with the spyware already in it. It's called Opticon Scintil. We can compromise anyone's records. People in the FBI, CIA, or any other alphabet soup agency you care to name. We can access their records, and if they have anything to hide, we can get to them. That's why we have moles everywhere. It was Theo who wrote the program."

"Theo was in the Organization?" she asked, astonishment in her voice.

"No. They came to him. Jason Rickard approached him. Back while Strauss was still operating. See, Theo did hacking jobs for money. Having an outside source of income meant that he could cover any incidental expenses that he ran up while killing, and his wife would never have to know. His hacking income helped conceal his hunting and killing."

"How did they know about him? Were they just looking for a black hat hacker, or did Rickard know he was a student?"

"I don't know," Coleman answered. "Theo thought that Eliza might have been on to him, and knew he was a Strauss student even before he ever heard of her. He wasn't sure, but thought maybe she had accessed Strauss' records somehow. That's why he wanted a student who was with Strauss after Eliza."

"I can't believe Strauss would write all of that down in one place."

"It was so that Julianna could contact his students, and use them to help discredit the government's case."

"He could have given her that information verbally," Max replied. "There was no reason to risk writing it all down. Unless...You say Theo wanted a fellow student who knew computers?"

"Theo broke the encryption on Eliza's phone. He got her talking to the Chairman"

"Who's that?" she asked.

"The head of the Organization. Theo got a recording of him talking to Eliza. He used it to keep Eliza from killing him. So he figured she'd be looking to up their data security. So he basically used his hacking skills to...enhance my qualifications. I got a job doing IT for that military contracting company Eliza runs. Later, she got me moved over to RCS."

"Do you know the Chairman's name?"

"No, but Theo does."

"Change of topic," she said. "Tell me about Wayne Jarrett. And those people."

"My followers," Coleman replied, as if he were proud of the fact. "I started recruiting them as soon as I left Dr Strauss. They had an interest in the occult. So do I. It's how I drew them to me."

Max looked at Coleman with evident disgust. "They moved around with Theo?"

"Sometimes. Not always. They helped Theo at times."

"Theo Noble doesn't need any help", she said emphatically.

"As a serial killer, no. But when he kills it's a compulsion. A need. It's for pleasure. This was business."

"What business?," she asked.

"Theo wanted me inside the Organization so that I could help him break into their data systems. They don't just access personnel records. The Chairman, whoever he is, is someone near the top of the national security and intelligence heap. The whole Organization works like an intelligence agency. It operates through front companies like RCS, or that military contractor that Eliza runs. And there's others. The front companies provide cover, and a base of operations. But also, they're wired into everything. They see all kinds of classified stuff, and they use it. They can access daily intelligence briefings, NOC* lists, special access programs, all kinds of stuff. The Chairman has above Top Secret clearance. Eliza has clearance too, since her goons provide security for intelligence black sites, plus all kinds of VIPS. Theo can get that stuff and sell it."

"Theo is selling information?" she asked. "That's one hell of a career change. Who does he sell it to?"

"I don't know, " Coleman replied. "Whoever will pay. Highest bidder. Hell, maybe he puts it up on eBay. Hey, everybody's gotta eat. He can't hold down a regular job anymore since he was exposed. He lives by piggybacking off the Organizations access to government secrets. I got him access to a lot of the intel that the Organization sees. He gave me a flash drive to plug in. By the way, he gave one to an FBI agent. A guy named Reyes. So Theo is deep in the FBI computers too. Between Theo and Eliza, you guys are totally transparent. Theo pays me. And in turn, I support my followers. And they help Theo out. Couriers, security, or they just keep a lookout. They're useful."

"You started recruiting followers as soon as you left Strauss," she said. It was not a question.

"Yes. I had my own vision, and I wanted to pursue it. I wanted to bring a kind of enlightenment. To teach."

"Is that what you want to be when you grow up?" she asked. "The Son of Strauss?" She shook her head sadly. "I don't know whether to laugh or cry."

"Strauss just made killers," Coleman said. "I'm making a fortune. And I'm making history. The Organization learned how to infiltrate into the government and use it for their own purposes. Theo and I learned how to infiltrate the Organization."

Max wanted to tell Coleman that Theo had figured this out, not him, that Theo was just using him, and he was probably dead when Theo was done with him. But Coleman was proud of himself, she realized, and ready to claim bragging rights about what a clever bastard he'd been. So she'd let him.

"A bunch of your followers ended up dead in North Carolina," said Max. "Who did that? "

"There's this guy who works for the Organization. Derek. He's a hit man. He came to see Theo. He wanted to make some sort of a deal. Theo had my followers staking out places where he used public access wifi to hack into the Organization's computers. He thought Eliza might have locked his location. He had my followers take this guy. They were going to kill him, but the guy got loose. Wayne called me, asking for help. He wanted me to call Roger Gordon. Wayne was hurt bad. But I never could get Roger on the phone."

"Because Theo killed him," Max replied. " And his wife. Mike and I found the bodies."

Coleman stared at her, as if he were having trouble processing what he'd just been told.

"You said Theo was afraid Eliza might know where he was," Max said. . "How could she find that out?"

"Through his ISP, when he connected to an Organization computer. That's why he moved around a lot, and used public access wifi. Public libraries, park benches, coffee shops, wherever he liked to hang out. He could spoof an ISP, but spoofing isn't foolproof. Derek was the second one of Eliza's guys who came nosing around. Theo was afraid that Eliza might have tagged his ISP when he was connected to one of her computers. One of her guys showed up in Beaumont recently. Theo recognized him, since he had accessed the personnel records at ZR Security. This was maybe a couple of weeks ago. Theo pointed him out to Wayne and my followers killed him. They carved him up in that house in Judson County."

"One of Eliza's guys was dead in that house?"

"Yeah."

"So if Theo knew Eliza had her crosshairs on him, why the hell did he stay in Beaumont?" The question was directed more at herself than at Coleman, who sat in silence as if he didn't know himself. "Because Theo was in Beaumont to kill Ryan," said Max, seemingly distracted as she answered her own question. " Theo was going to make a move on Ryan, but Eliza made a move on him first."

She turned her attention back to Coleman. "Tell me about the Mr. Shiny worm," she said.

"Theo started using it on Organization front companies. Basically, he had back doors into any system he wanted to access by that point. My job was data security. So I made sure that everything was insecure. He was upping the pressure on Eliza. Sort of like he did with Ryan Hardy, where he would order stuff on his credit card or whatever. He was showing Eliza that he could get to her, and making her look bad. He wanted to make her sweat. The name was kind of a joke. He called it that because he knew that I regarded Lovecraft as an actual practicing occultist. Sometimes he calls me Mister Shiny, like that character who could assume different forms."

"He must be planning to come after Eliza, and soon," Max replied. "What's your part in that? How's he planning to kill her?"

"He hasn't told me, at least not yet. He's given me a patch for the security software that's supposed to defeat Shiny. I'm supposed to have developed it. What it actually does I have no idea."

"Why did you kill Jason Rickard?," she asked.

"I didn't! I had nothing to do with that !"

"So it's just a coincidence that he was killed using the same MO as those people in North Carolina?"

"I had nothing to do with that, " Coleman said emphatically. "I had no reason."

"Did Theo do it?"

"Theo was in Beaumont at the time, as far as I know. I called and asked him about it after it happened. I wondered why Rickard was killed at the same time RCS got hacked. He wouldn't tell me anything. I thought maybe he flew up here and killed Rickard without telling any of my followers. Maybe he did it to spook Eliza. I had no reason to do it. Why would I? I had a good thing going, and there was no reason to risk it by killing Rickard."

Max sat impassively, not answering.

"I had no reason!," Coleman repeated.

Max shook her head sadly. "You're in way over your head. Theo wants revenge. On Eliza. On Ryan. On the whole wide world for grievances that go back to the womb. He's using you and he's gonna kill you."

"'What Theo wants," Max continued, "is a new life. He's put together enough money to buy a new life, shiny and new. And he's going to be living in some nonextradition country with nice balmy weather, and you're going to end up in a shallow grave. Come downtown with me. The Bureau debriefs you, clears me, and you get out of this alive."

"No way," Coleman replied. "First, neither one of us would survive the trip. Second, in case you've forgotten, I'm a serial killer. Mafia guys get witness protection. Guys like me get lethal injection, or life in supermax."

"You're a flounder, Coleman. And you're trying to swim with the sharks. Get out of this now. It's just a question of who happens to you first. If it's me, I'll get you downtown in one piece. If it's Mike, you'll still make it downtown, but you'll fall down a few flights of stairs on the way. But if it's Theo, or Eliza, or Ryan for that matter, you'll never see downtown because they'll make dog meat out of you."

"No dice," Coleman said. "But here's what I'll do. I won't deal with any US Attorney. I'll deal with you, and with you only. I won't take a chance on ending up like Strauss or Joe Caroll. I'll get you a data dump. I'll give you a flash drive, with enough incriminating evidence to put Eliza away, and I disappear. After that, it's your problem."

Max saw no point in telling Coleman that she had a flash drive already, if she could break the encryption. But he wasn't going go with her voluntarily, and trying to bring him in against his will while she was a wanted fugitive was likely to end with her in lockup.

"Ok," she said. "You bring me something I can use. Proof of this spyware. Opticon...?"

"Scintil," he said

"Bring me a sample on a flash drive. Bring me some kind of classified material that the Organization has accessed. Bring me some kind of undeniable proof that the Organization exists. Call me on Wayne Jarrett's phone, I'm low on burners."

Coleman's phone, which was still sitting on the couch next to Max, began to buzz. She picked it up and looked at the screen. "Call from Derek," she said. "The Derek?"

"Yeah, and I better take it, or there'll be questions."

She walked over to Coleman and cautiously handed him the phone. "On speaker," she said. "Don't try anything."She sat back down on the couch, keeping herself out of his reach.

"Hi Derek," he said.

"Hey. Where are you?"

"Finishing up lunch," Coleman said.

"I'm at Fairfax. We've got server issues, and we need this shit up and running five minutes ago."

"I"ll be there as soon as I can.", Coleman said.

"Well make it sooner. The Boss Lady is on her way back."

"I'm on my way. See you soon.", he said. And hung up.

"What's Fairfax?" she asked.

"Fairfax International Forwarding. It's over in Elizabeth, near the waterfront. On the outside, it's a warehouse. On the inside, it's the Organization's main base in this area. It's a combination armory, motor pool, holding area for prisoners, stuff like that."

"All right," she said. "You better go. How long before you can get me that drive?"

"Seven this evening, after work."

"Ok," said Max. "Before you go, hand me your wallet." She held out her hand.

Coleman took his wallet out of his pants pocket and handed it over, a puzzled look on his face. "What are you doing?"

"Borrowing money. I'll pay you back when I get that drive. I can't use my plastic anymore, being a fugitive. I'm probably on the Bureau's Ten Most Wanted,"she said, grinning. She took out a thick wad of bills. "Whoa. The Organization must pay good. I'm in the wrong line of work." She put some of the bills back in Coleman's wallet, and pocketed the rest. "Here, " she said, handing the wallet back. "I left you enough for lunch and cab fare. It's like you said. Everybody's gotta eat."

"Can I have my stuff back?" Coleman asked, pointing at the weapons Max had taken off him.

"Oh hell no".

VII

Ryan's safe house in New York proved to be on the fourth floor of a six story apartment building in Inwood. It was one bedroom, but Ryan said that the couch was pretty comfortable. The bedroom closet had become an impromptu arms room, where Ryan had put his stolen weapons and ammo. "I'm impressed," Mike said, as he looked over Ryan's arsenal. "You keep this stuff here all the time?"

"No, I went shopping on the way to New York. I had to leave a lot of stuff behind when Eliza hit my safe house in North Carolina. That's why it took me so long to get here. I wanted to come prepared."

Mike walked to the living room, and stared out the window at another apartment building across the street that was exactly one story taller. Ryan followed him. "Relax," he said to Mike. "She'll call. It seems longer than it is."

Ryan sat down on the couch. "So you haven't actually seen or heard from Theo."

"No, but the timing is suspicious. They never found a body. The theory was that both bodies were trapped in a hydraulic and stayed there for a while. Then they floated downstream through an area that had already been dragged more than once. At least that's what the experts on the TV news said. I watched some of it on TV while I was in the hospital, but I really couldn't stand to watch very much. I guess in the end, it was easier for everyone to believe you were both dead. Because if you weren't...The truth can be hard to accept. That's something I've been learning the last few days."

Ryan gave a humorless smile. "It wasn't easy for me either."

Mike sat down on the other end of the couch. "The hell of it is, Max guessed early on. She thought you were alive, somewhere. That one day you'd be there. I thought she was having trouble coping. Well, she was, but not the way I thought. I wanted her to see someone. I may have made things worse. If I had listened then, maybe she wouldn't have kept things from me. And maybe I'd be with her now."

"Don't," Ryan said. "Don't beat yourself up. You did what you thought was best. You were in the hospital when it happened. If you had seen me that night... She must have looked back on that."

"Maybe being in the hospital is something else to beat myself up over," said Mike.

"I don't understand."

"When you came to us, at the hotel that night, it got me thinking. Something I never told Max. I kept thinking about how different things might be if I hadn't been in the hospital. If I had just been there, maybe you wouldn't have done what you did."

Ryan sat, looking puzzled. "You told us that day, when they finally executed Joe, to look after each other. Well, we did. We stood by each other, every step of the way. And I believe what you said. That you would never have asked Max to leave me at a time like that. But we were a team. And I thought that if I hadn't been stabbed, you would have come to me. To us. And we would have gone after Eliza together. And we would have taken the whole Organization down. Because there was nothing we couldn't do. Instead, you end up going it alone."

"Your getting stabbed wasn't your fault. Or Max's. Things happen. Even if you'd been well, I still wouldn't have told you. Or asked you for help. Not this time."

"I know," Mike said. "So tell me this, and be honest. Let's just say Mark hadn't stabbed me. I'm there for you, but you go lone wolf anyway. Would you have gone because you had to, or because you wanted to?"

"Now wait a minute," Ryan said angrily. "I went to protect my family. I wanted to be with Gwen. With my son. I sacrificed everything for them. For Max. For you."

"I just think it was really hard to let go of Joe.," Mike replied. "You were drinking. You were having a hard time. Maybe you weren't seeing things as clearly as you think."

"I did what had to be done, " Ryan said. " And I'd do it again."

"And now here we are."

"You're saying it's my fault Max is out there?" Ryan asked, his voice rising.

"No. Max made her choices. And so did you. And so did I. And right or wrong, none of it can be changed. But we have to be a team again, or all three of us are gonna die. Gwen too, probably. If they spilt us up, we've had it. So like the man said, this is where we hang together. Or we hang separately. All of us."

Ryan nodded slowly. "You're right," he said. "I think I might just need a little help with this one after all."

"A little?" Mike asked, grinning.

"Maybe more than a little," Ryan replied. "We'll give Max the good news when she calls."

"We will," said Mike. "You know, with everything that's been going on, I forgot to tell you."

"Tell me what?"

"We're engaged."

Ryan stood, walked closer to Mike, and held out his hand. "Congratulations," he said. "When did this happen?"

"The night you came to the hotel," said Mike, as he shook Ryan's hand. "It was actually because of you. You said something about having a life when this was over, and it made me think. That we shouldn't wait. You once said the Universe owed us. So maybe it was time to start collecting. With interest."

"Sit down, Mike said, "I want to show you something. I don't know why the hell I didn't do this sooner."

As Ryan sat down next to Mike, Mike took a phone out of his jacket pocket. From a different pocket, he produced a SIM card. He talked as he put the SIM card back into the phone. "I'd actually been wanting to propose for a while. Really ever since Ryan junior was born. I was still on limited duty, and well, I kinda wanted to be a little healthier on our wedding night." He turned on the phone, and it began booting up. "I want to show you my favorite picture of Max. I took it at the hospital that day. This was the first time she ever held him." He handed the phone over to Ryan, who looked intently at the picture on the screen.

The picture was of Max, sitting by Gwen's bedside, with Ryan junior cradled in her arms. "She's beautiful in that picture," Mike said. "And it's like that every time she holds him. It's like her whole face lights up. "We're going to have kids of our own, eventually, and...Ryan? You OK?".

"Sorry," Ryan said, dabbing at his right eye with his hand. "Something in my eye."

"Yeah. I know how that is."

"Thanks," said Ryan, handing Mike the phone. "You better pull that SIM card back out, though. Remote access and all that."

Mike shut the phone down, and began removing the SIM card. "I don't know how we're gonna do it," he said. "But we gotta get you home."

A burner phone, one of Mike's, buzzed for attention. Mike picked it up off the end table. "Max?"

VIII

Max paced the floor of her room at Globe Studio Apartments, waiting for Mike to pick up.

"Mike? I just met with Coleman. He's definitely working with Theo. Apparently Theo has pretty much hacked everybody. The Bureau, the Organization, he's plugged into everything. Tom Reyes apparently planted some sort of spyware on the Bureau's servers. And Theo wrote spyware for the Organization. They're all over the OPM** * database. That's how they recruit moles. This is even bigger than we thought. Coleman is promising to get me files from the Organization's computers

so we can take Eliza down. He wants to meet this evening."

"Do you trust him?" Mike asked.

"No," she replied. "I'm pretty sure it's a setup. He's more afraid of Theo than Eliza. Personally, I think that's a mistake. I think Theo is headed for New York, and he'll be here by seven, which is when Coleman wants to meet."

"Where areyou now? Ryan and I will come get you."

"The Globe Studio Apartments on the Lower East Side."

"'We're on our way."

IX

Derek sat in his not quite office, the remote for his rat in hand, watching it run around the room. He had few pages of printed documents scattered on his desk. He found that reading printed material on a monitor disagreeable. He needed paper to really understand something he was reading. Tanke walked into the room carrying a bag of chips from the machine, which he placed on the desk. "Thanks," Derek said. He stopped the rat, tore open the bag, and started eating a couple of chips. Tanke stood by the desk, looking at the monitor, which showed a street map.

"Tanke," Derek said, "don't be looking over my shoulder when I'm working."

"You're not working," Tanke pointed out.

"Well, then don't be looking over my shoulder at whatever I have been, or am supposed to be working on. And don't be a smartass, either. Any or all of the above should be avoided."

"Sorry", Tanke said. He stepped back, and watched the rat, as Derek made it run under ne of the work benches and, and then back out swiftly.

"Speaking of not working, you might want to look busy when the Boss Lady shows up. I don't think she's going to be in the best of moods, " Derek replied.

"I'm on standby," Tanke said, as though that explained everything.

"Stand by doesn't mean stand around," said Derek. "Put fresh batteries in those radios" He pointed at a shelf on the opposite wall.

While Tanke moved to comply, Derek sent the rat out of the room, turned it to the right, and sent it down the hall. The he worked the control stick to reverse direction and bring it back, but found, to his annoyance, that the rat did not appear. He played with the stick for few seconds, wondering what was wrong. The explanation became clear when Eliza appeared at the door, rat in hand, Stinnes and Kaminsky in tow.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?," she asked.

"Taking a break," Derek replied. He held out his hand for the rat. "And we need to talk."

"Clear the room," was Eliza's curt reply. She handed the rat to Derek, who placed it back on his desk. Tanke, Stinnes, and kaminsky all beat a hasty retreat.

"Well?" she said.

"You know," he began, "I used to wonder why it was that you didn't have me wasted last year, after that surveillance job. Remember? The hot FBI agent fresh out of Quantico? You wanted her daily routine, and the code to her alarm. I didn't know what the job was about at the time. I thought maybe you had the hots for her. Or maybe someone at the House put in a bid on her. And then I thought that maybe it was her uncle you had the hots for. Maybe this was some kind of complicated way into his life. Maybe you were going to comfort the grieving uncle after his niece got auctioned off. "

"And then one day I read in the news that her asshole boyfriend got a face full of acid, and the uncle was feeding the fish. And it turns out that the whole job was never reported to the Committee. Because the job was for good old Professor Higgins, aka Strauss, so that he could give it to Bonnie and Clyde. You would have never sent any of our people into an FBI agent's apartment on an unauthorized operation. And I thought to myself that I'd better be reviewing my escape plan about now, because you would definitely want to eliminate witnesses. But then nothing happened, and I realized that it was because I had to use a whole goddam surveillance team to do that job, and even you can't make that many people disappear with no questions asked."

"Are you finished now?" she asked, ice in her voice.

"Actually, I'm just getting started. So imagine my surprise when Sarah called this morning, and she wanted me to come over for a little tete a tete. And she asks me if you were the one who had Adrian offed. Because it turns out that he went on a little fishing expedition through the files, and saw that report I put together on Max Hardy."

"She's dead, then."

"So here's a question for you," he said. "Why? Because you had fond memories of Strauss? Because he taught you to be the Duchess at the ball? What was in it for you?"

"For now," she said, "you'll just have to accept that I had my reasons."

"I'm not the Light Brigade," he said angrily. "Theirs was not to reason why, theirs was but to do and die. I had enough of that shit in the Company."

"Because Strauss threatened to expose the Organization if I didn't help him"

"Bullshit"

"He'd been to the house. He had a bracelet. He told Julianna where it was. She showed up at the house, and walked in on his ID bracelet."

"She would have never walked out of there," he replied. " She would have ended up as the evening's entertainment."

"I had no way of knowing what else he might have that he might have given her."

"What, like maybe a T shirt with a picture of the House on it? Do we sell souvenirs now? Do we have our own corporate logo? Make sure we copyright it if we do."

"I understand," she said." I know you're upset, you have every right to be. I involved you without telling you what it was about. I'm sorry."

"I just wonder how much of that it true," he said, thinking, as he did so, that very little of it was.

"Kaminsky told me what you said."

"About?"

"That you sold your soul. Is working for me so horrible? I worry about you Derek. And not just because I need you at your best right now. This self loathing you seem to have. It's corrosive. You didn't sell out, you were betrayed. Have you ever been to the House?"

"No. I'm a little bit too down market."

"I want you to come with me next time. I think it would be good for you. You need to embrace what you are. And I think you need to...unwind."

"I know how I'd rather unwind," said Derek. "But it might be bad for employee morale if the staff heard the Boss Lady screaming my name."

"That's for later," she said with a wicked smile. "Work before play. We have to find Theo. And Ryan. And Max Hardy. God, I can't believe Galen screwed this up."

"Well, I haven't found Theo yet. But Max Hardy is holed up in some dump on the Lower East Side. It's called the Globe Studio Apartments." he pointed at the map on his monitor.

"How do you know?"

"Because," Derek explained, " the night I planted that murder weapon, I found a bag in the trunk of her car. Being the nosey sort, I took a peek inside. Apparently Galen managed to make her suspicious, and she packed a bugout bag. So I took a page from your book, and stuck a tracker bug inside the insulated liner of the motorcycle jacket she's wearing. Just in case."

"And to think I once seriously considered having you killed."

"It would've been just one hell of a tragic waste."

"So all we have to do now," said Eliza, "is go pick her up"

"Pick her up? Are you insane? Let the Feebs**** do the heavy lifting. I thought the point of framing her was so that we wouldn't have to get our hands dirty."

"But this is perfect," Eliza replied. "She's already eluded them, and so she looks guilty. If they arrest her, then we have to arrange an order to get her moved, and there's a paper trail. This way, she disappears without a trace, and the FBI is left with questions that have no answers. So you go pick up Gwen Carter and her son. I'll take a team and grab Max."

"Don't do this," Derek said. "I know this has gotten personal with you, and that's a mistake. Your guys aren't amateurs, but neither is Max. She's armed, she's alerted, and if you try to take her on the move, then you could end up leaving a blood trail. With your blood. Blood is messier than paper."

"I can do this," said Eliza.

"She won't kill a cop. But she will light you up in a heartbeat."

"You take a driver," E said. "I'll take Stinnes and Kaminsky, and whoever else we have on call. You get Gwen Carter, and bring her here. Little Miss Hardy is mine."

Musical Interlude - Shadows On The Streets Of New York by Joe Bouchard

* Most Intelligence officers use what is called official cover. They pose as diplomats working out of a embassy, and have diplomatic immunity. In theory, they can't be arrested, but they still be at risk from terrorists and some outlaw governments . NOC is short for Non Official Cover. NOCs don't pose as US government civil servants. They have no diplomatic immunity, and if exposed, are fair game. These are the people you see in the spy movies. Daily intelligence briefs are just what the name says. The Presidential Daily Intelligence Brief is the best known, but other people get them too. Special Access Programs are classified above Top Secret and carry the designation Top Secret SAP.

** A hydraulic is a type of current found at the base of waterfalls and dams, and it can be found around rocks and rapids as well. At the base of, say, a dam, the downward current carries you down and under water, and then you get pushed back up to surface _behind_ the waterfall, then you go back under in the down current again. Pattern repeats until you drown. Even an Olympic class swimmer can't escape fighting against the current.

If you are trapped in a hydraulic, the best hope of escape is to swim perpendicular to the current, and try to get to the edge of it, and out. But if it's a man made hydraulic, say at the base of a dam, then even this chance of escape may not exist, since the dam goes all the way across the river.

I assumed that since no bodies were found, theories would have been advanced as to why not. (There would likely have been some nutball conspiracy theories advanced as well.) The talking heads would have speculated on the cable networks. Actually, most of what you see on the cable networks isn't really news, it's people speculating about the news, but that's neither here nor there.

***Office Of Personnel Management. The Chinese hack of the OPM database was the first time that Terudom was overtaken by real world events. At one time, I worried that the degree of hostile penetration of government computers in Terudom strained credulity. But some recent scandals have convinced me that the truth is worse than anything I can invent.

**** Derisive nickname for the FBI.

25


	15. Chapter 15 I'll Always Be There For You

Disclaimer: It's fanfic, meaning I don't own anything or make any money off of it. It's a labor of love. Please don't sue me.

Welcome to Chapter 15 of Terudom. We now have officially as many chapters as a season of The Following had episodes. Whether that's good or bad, I don't know. Like all previous chapters, this one is rated T. Apart from some language, this chapter would, I believe, pass muster on The Following. If you're old enough to watch the Following, you're old enough to read this. That having been said, warnings apply for dark themes, violence, etc. Finally, as always, please don't try anything you read here at home.

I normally send a PM to people who leave reviews thanking them, but I do get the odd guest review that makes this infeasible. Jess, thank you for your kind words, and thanks to all my readers. Remember that feedback, positive or negative, is always welcome.

Finally, I'm sorry I haven't updated sooner. I wanted to get the story to a certain point before I broke off, and that took some doing. I decided that this part of the story should come in one gulp, and that stopping in the middle of it would be wrong. I know it's a long chapter, but there were reasons, as you'll see.

Chapter 15 - I'll Always Be There For You

Mike stood in the door of Ryan's bedroom closet armory while Ryan quickly picked out weapons and gear for Mike. " We'll pack these carbines just in case. They're silenced. That may come in handy now that we don't have badges any more. I've already loaded up some magazines, so we don't need to spend time on that." Ryan reached onto the closet and took down one of the late unlamented Ned Holman's M&Pc pistols in an inside the waistband holster, two spare magazines loaded with 9mm hollow points. "Take this I'll take the other M&Pc and that P22. It's got a silencer. I also stopped on the way to New York and got us some radios and flashlights."

"You come prepared," Mike said. "That must have been some shopping trip. Good thing you could afford all of this."

"Yeah, well, I know where to shop. And I got a discount."

Mike paused in putting his holster on long enough to look at Ryan uneasily. "Do I really want to ask?"

"No."

Ryan fetched a couple of long nylon bags from the closet to hide their long guns during their walk to the truck. He also produced a canvas tarp that he'd kept in the back of his truck. He'd bought black nylon bags for the long guns on the way to New York, but they fairly screamed "gun", so he also had a canvas tarp to wrap around them. It wouldn't do to be seen wandering the halls of the apartment building carrying the bags. Ryan, Mike reflected, had been doing this sort of thing for a while, and had gotten good at it.

"I'll check and see if there's anyone in the halls," he said. That canvas tarp can hide a lot, but we still don't need to attract attention. Take a couple of radios. There's a first aid kit in the truck." When Mike glanced at him, Ryan added "Like you say. I come prepared. For the absolute worst."

II

Derek opened the target access safe, and drew out an envelope labeled Gwen Carter. Inside was a card with the code to her alarm, and a fob that would open her car. The alarm code hadn't been updated in a while, but it was probably still good. People are lazy about changing alarm codes and passwords, Derek reflected, which was good for guys like him. He stuck the fob and the card in his coat pocket. He didn't expect to need the fob, but decided to take it anyway. He opened his locker and took out a taser. He didn't normally carry one, but he was expected to bring Gwen Carter and her son back in one piece. He might need to subdue her in a hurry if she panicked. He hated that an infant was part of this job. It was a first for him and it made him feel dirty. _I may be a professional killer, but the emphasis is on professional. I'm supposed to have standards._

He stood for a moment in front of his locker, wondering why he hadn't told Eliza what he'd found on that inventory. He hadn't believed a word she'd said about Strauss or the dossier on Max Hardy.. She was lying, he felt sure, but he didn't know what she was covering up or why. That worried him. Well, if she was lying to him, he was at least allowed to keep a few things to himself. Whatever she was covering up, she was almost certainly prepared to kill for. So don't risk crossing that line, even inadvertently. He hadn't told her about the stolen flash drive either. He'd bitched her out about the Max Hardy file partly to rattle her cage. He wanted to see what she'd say about it. A lie can be as revealing as the truth. He was sure she'd lied to him but wasn't sure what, if any truth had been revealed.

He was standing in front of his locker, lost in thought, when Tanke came into the room. "She wants me to go with you," he said. Derek stood there for a moment, without answering. "You OK?" Tanke asked.

"Yeah. I was just thinking that I work for someone who manages to combine a sort of twisted and insidious genius with a complete lack of common sense. Get your gear."

III

Eliza stood in the garage at Fairfax International looking over her assembled men and vehicles like a military commander. Besides Stinnes and Kaminsky she had three other men who had been called in on short notice. They had two vehicles, a Chevy Express van and a Chrysler 300. "Our target is a trained and experienced FBI agent," she said. "We need to take her alive, and intact. She will be armed. At last report she's in a flat on the Lower East side, probably on an upper floor. We have a tracker on her, and if she moves, we'll follow and adjust our plans. Right now the plan is that alpha team, in the van, will do the actual takedown. Bravo team will take position behind the building in case she tries to get down the back fire escape."

"Because we're doing this in daylight, and there is video surveillance, Alpha team will be carrying extra license plates. Since we know the locations of the video cameras, we can change plates in a dead spot if we need to."

"Rules of engagement are nonlethal weapons only, unless I give you permission, or you're actually about to be shot. Think twice about lethal force, because if you present me with a corpse, I will be...unhappy." She let that sink in for a moment. "Questions?" There were none. "All right, then. We're rolling."

Her team began loading up, Stinnes, Kaminsky, and a third man getting into the van. She was about to get into the van when she heard Derek's voice behind her. "Eliza?"

She turned, and saw him looking at her uneasily. She stepped away from the van and out of earshot of the men inside. "What?" she said.

"Please don't do this."

"I appreciate that you don't question me in front of the men," She said smiling.

"I'd never do that."

"I know. Normally I'd be angry at anyone who questioned me at all. But in your case, it's actually kind of endearing. I don't know anyone else who actually worries about me. Did you call Milani?"

"Yeah, he's on the way back here."

"Good. You know there is such a thing as takeout, right?"

"I can't exactly hold the guy prisoner here. He's allowed to eat. I think that's in the Geneva Convention or something."

"I never signed the Geneva Convention," she said. "I'll see you soon."

IV

Max sat on the threadbare couch in the dingy living room, staring at the empty chair that Zack Coleman had vacated. In the distance she could hear a police siren. It didn't seem to be getting closer, but it made her nervous all the same. Between her long surveillance detection route in the morning cold and the constant stress, she was dead tired. To make things worse, she'd hardly slept the night before. She wanted desperately to lie down, but needed to stay awake. The first thing she was going to do when she made it to Ryan's safe house was curl up and sleep, but first she had to get there.

Mike and Ryan were on their way, but in the meantime she had to worry about two possibilities. The Bureau might find her, and Coleman might double cross her. She was pretty sure the Bureau didn't know where she was, unless Coleman decided to sell her out. She didn't think he'd turn her in, since if she talked she could implicate him. But he might go to Theo, and Theo might be closer than she thought. Coleman had told her he wanted to meet at seven, but she didn't think he was planning to deliver that flash drive. More likely, his plan was that she'd show up for the meeting and walk straight into Theo. But if Theo was nearby, then Coleman might be calling him now and giving him her location. So she had to decide what to do if Theo got to her before Mike and Ryan did.

There were two ways in. One was through the flimsy front door. The other was the fire escape at the bedroom window. She considered the floor plan. Someone kicking the door in would walk

down the narrow entryway, past the kitchen into the living room. She could remain in the living room, and watch the fire escape, but if she did so, she'd have the front door at her back. But once past the kitchen a short passage opened on the left. It dead ended with doors on opposite sides. On the left was the door to the bathroom, on the right, a door led to the bedroom. She could wait in the bedroom, and watch the fire escape, and the ground below. If the front door were kicked in she'd hear it, and as her attackers walked past the kitchen, she would have a chance to ambush them from the bedroom door. So she'd take up position in the bedroom while waiting for Mike and Ryan, and keep a watch out the window.

The only problem was that she couldn't watch the door and the window at the same time, as they were in different rooms. But there might be a solution for that...

V

Derek sat in the passenger seat of the Durango, and glanced over at the speedometer. "Step on it," he said to Tanke.

"We don't want to get pulled while doing illegal shit," Tanke replied.

"We don't want to take too long over the illegal shit either, Doctor Carter lives on Varick. We can get there well before the other teams get to that shithole Max Hardy is hiding in. If she's not home, we get to the Lower East Side in time to back Eliza up."

"So, like, when did she stop being the Boss Lady and become Eliza?"

"See that?" Derek asked, pointing. "That's the gas. Now apply foot and drive like you mean it."

VI

They threw the gear in the back seat of the F150. Ryan turned on the police scanner he had in the cab. "You know," Mike said, "I told Max, the day we went to investigate that hack at RCS, that it would be just like old times. But it wasn't Not really. It couldn't be. Not without you. It's good to have you back."

"It's good to be back," Ryan said. "Let's go get Max."

VII

Derek stood in Gwen's kitchen, staring at the breakfast dishes on the kitchen table, and the half empty cup of coffee. Getting in had been easy enough. Locked doors were not normally a problem for him, and thankfully the code to her alarm had been current. He'd told Tanke to circle around the block. He was confident of being able to handle Gwen if she was home, and he hadn't really worked with Tanke except the night he'd planted the replacement barrel in Max Hardy's car. He decided he'd rather go it alone than have someone he didn't know well.

So she'd been at breakfast. Her car was still in the deck nearby, but she was gone, and no car seat for her infant was in evidence. So someone had picked her up early in the morning on short notice. Max Hardy had faded out early in the morning. Either she had picked Gwen up, or she had called someone.

More likely she had called someone. Max had left the gym on foot, and if she was the pro Derek thought she was, she wouldn't go anywhere near Gwen without taking time to run a surveillance detection route. Who would she call? Her uncle? Doubtful. Ryan Hardy was supposed to be dead. He wouldn't go anywhere near any member of his family. So someone else, someone Max knew. Someone at the FBI? Maybe, but she'd be paranoid about moles. Gina Mendez, perhaps. Derek wasn't sure how far away Gina lived, or if she could have gotten here on short notice. He pulled out his phone and called Eliza.

"Hey there. Gwen Carter isn't home. It looks like she left suddenly early this morning, and not in her car. My guess is that Max called someone."

"I'll just have to ask her," Eliza said. "I'm sure she'll tell me."

"No doubt. I'm headed your way in case you need help."

VIII

Eliza stepped out of the front office at the Globe Studio apartments, and closed the door behind her to conceal the dead body of unfortunate clerk who had been on duty when she walked in. The staff here was pretty minimal. The clerk, a fat, unkempt man in his late twenties, had been willing to answer questions from a beautiful woman, but had stopped short of providing her with a key to Max's room. Three rounds from the silencer equipped Makarov she had in her purse had settled that disagreement.

Stinnes and Kaminsky were waiting just outside. "We let ourselves in, quietly," she said. "I'll cover her with my pistol. Zip ties if she's sensible, taser and syringe if she's not. Let's go."

There was no elevator in this place. They walked up the stairs, past a neatly dressed young black man with a backpack headed downstairs, and short, burly white man with freckles and a hoodie who was loitering in the stairwell. He stared appreciatively at Eliza. He might have been looking for someone to rob, but one look at Stinnes and Kaminsky convinced him that there were easier pickings to be had.

They reached the third floor, and found the hallway empty. Max was in room 307. They stood outside her door, Eliza with the key in her hand, Stinnes and Kaminshy behind her. Eliza stood to the left of the door, and quietly inserted the key. She turned it and nodded to Stinnes. He shoved the door open hard - and suddenly hit a solid obstruction.

IX

Max waited by the bedroom door, looking out at the backs of two buildings across the way. She could see a thin, bearded man emerge from the maze of crates and trash on the right side of the back lot, and disappear below her field of vision to reappear several minutes later, and return to his burrow, or whatever. He was likely dumpster diving. She looked up at patch of sky visible between the two buildings. It was turning gray and overcast. The weather was warming, but probably bringing in cold rain.

From the entryway came the sound of the door opening hard and fast, and hitting the nightstand she'd placed behind it. She didn't hear the shouts of SWAT officers identifying themselves. Of course, SWAT didn't always identify themselves, but she decided this was more likely to be bad guys. Time to go. She threw the window open, and stepped out onto the fire escape.

As she started down the metal stairs, she could hear the sound of the bedroom door being forced open. Still no sounds of police. But even if it wasn't police, there could still be more of them. Theo had been known to work with others, and then there was Eliza. Ideally, a tactical team trying to take someone on the upper floor of a building will try to force them to come down. There could be more of them waiting for her at ground level.

She reached the platform on the second floor. To release the ladder to reach ground level, she'd have to pull the latch pins and climb down. But climbing down a ladder was slow, and it really wasn't all that far, so she climbed quickly over the rail, and jumped.

She hit the ground, rolled, and got quickly back up again. To her left was the dumpster where the resident of that trash heap had been foraging. Ahead was a narrow alley between two buildings that led to the next street over. To her right was a maze of junk, cardboard boxes, and crates.

Her first problem was to lose Wayne Jarrett's phone. If she were taken with it in her possession, Coleman would be a dead man, and while he was probably planning to betray her, he was, for the moment, all she had. She crossed the back lot at a run, and looked up at the window she had escaped from. She didn't see anyone. She took out the phone, and tossed it in the dumpster.

There were two ways out of this back lot, which was surrounded by mostly residential buildings. The back doors that opened onto it were mostly fire exits, and almost certainly locked from the outside. A narrow alley straight ahead that led to the next street over. To her right, past the maze of boxes and crates that sheltered the homeless, was another alley wide enough for delivery and trash trucks. If she went that way, she would have to make it through a maze of cates and junk that could shelter a whole tactical team. After that, she'd have to round at least two blind corners and it was a much longer route. So she'd go straight ahead and hope for the best

She decided that she had to have a weapon handy, but didn't want to be seen publicly brandishing a pistol. So she put her right hand into the pocket of her motorcycle jacket, and grasped the .38 snub she had as a backup gun. She kept her finger off the trigger, and began to move quickly towards the alley. As she did, she looked up, and saw Eliza looking out the open window of the room above. She walked quickly, keeping alert. From her vantage point, Eliza could see her easily, and could radio to any of her men nearby, directing them towards her. She had seconds to get out of here. . As she reached the entry to the alleyway, she saw a door on the building to her left. She tried it, but it was locked. The were panes of glass in the upper half of the door that she could have broken easily with the .38, but there was a deadbolt too. She kept going, and entered the alley. She thought she could hear someone coming behind her. Just a little further and she would be clear...

Ahead of her, the alley widened out, and she realized, too late, that someone could be waiting around the corner in ambush. Two men stepped into the narrowest part of the alley around the corner ahead of her, blocking her path, and began moving towards her. One of them was pulling something out of his pocket. She recognized a taser. There was no time to draw her gun, and the range was point blank. He was close enough for her to make out his stubble and acne scars. She pulled the trigger hard on her .38 and felt the long double action takeup. The gun fired in her pocket, the recoil so hard that it made her hand hurt. The man stopped, a startled look on his face, amazed at being shot by a gun he hadn't even seen.

She fired a second time. The man staggered backwards, and fell. Three cartridges left. The second man was behind the first. He dropped the taser in his hand and reached for the handgun on his belt. Too late. She brought the .38 out of her coat pocket, and fired a third time from the hip, aiming low. The recoil caused the gun to climb, and the bullet caught him in the upper abdomen. She raised the gun into a two handed grip, advancing toward her opponent. There was no place for her to take cover, and he probably couldn't miss if he got off a shot. So move straight at him and try to startle him and keep him off balance. She fired twice more. Both times she center punched him in the chest, and he went down.

She let the snubnose clatter to the pavement. It would be fatally slow to reload. She reached for her Glock. She was almost to the end of the alley, when she felt two slight impacts on her back. She knew instantly what it was, but the knowledge did her no good.

When the shock hit her, it felt like the barbs stuck in her clothing had sprouted needle sharp hooks that were ripping her flesh from her bones. She lost all control of her limbs, and fell to the ground, convulsing helplessly. She would have cried out from the pain, but couldn't get any breath. The shock stopped. She lay there, on her stomach, her face turned to one side, seeing only the brickwork of the building next to her. She drew a cautious breath, and then it hit again. This time there was enough air in her lungs for a short, startled cry, and then she began to convulse again. Blackness swam before her eyes as her consciousness slipped away.

X

" _All units in the vicinity of 25 Clancy, 10-10_."

The call came over Ryan's police scanner. Mike and Ryan looked at each other uneasily. That was the address for the Globe Studio Apartments. Mike reached for a burner.

"Don't", Ryan said. "She may be kind of busy. And you don't want the ringtone to give away her position." Mike nodded, and let his hand come back to his side. The traffic made it impossible to speed up. Ryan fought the urge to slam the gas pedal down, but getting into a wreck or getting arrested would do Max no good.

XI

Max felt herself being tossed onto a hard surface. Her hands were being pulled behind her back, and something was being wrapped around her wrists. Zip ties. "She's waking up," a man's voice said.

"Not for long," a woman replied. She felt the sharp stick of a needle in her thigh, and she felt herself fading out again.

XII

They stood across the street from Globe Studio Apartments. Both Clancy and Surrey, the next street over, were closed. They had seen the ambulance arrive, and a walk around the block revealed an ambulance loading the bodies of two victims on Surrey. "Try to call her," Ryan said.

Mike nodded, and pulled out a phone. He looked at it as though it might explode in his hand, and entered a number.

"Max?"

"Max can't come to the phone," a familiar voice replied. " Is Ryan there?"

Mike put the phone on speaker. "He can hear you", he said, and mouthed the word "Eliza"

"Hi Ryan," she said. "How've you been?"

"I'm good," Ryan said. 'Let me talk to Max"

"Later. Max is a little out of it right now. When she wakes up."

"We need to meet. Talk about this."

" Right now we need to get Max bedded down. She's had a rough day. I have to say, I'm really annoyed with her. That's three men she's cost me. What do you think I should do about that?"

"Don't hurt her," Ryan replied. "It's me you're mad at."

" It's not just you, Ryan. Max hasn't killed as many of our people as you have, but that's probably just because you've been at it longer. So yes, I'm upset with Max too. But we'll talk about that later. In the meantime, I think it's safe to say that you won't be bothering any of our people. Because I have to tell you that if anything happens, I'm going to take it out on her."

"Nothing's going to happen. Let's set up a meeting, we can talk."

"We'll be in touch," Eliza said, and then disconnected.

They stared at each other in silence. They had come so close, and now they had no idea where Max had been taken.

XIII

The black Explorer van was the first to return to Fairfax, Kaminsky in the driver's seat, Eliza and Stinnes in the back, watching the unconscious woman lying there, zip tied hand and foot. "Get a gurney," she said to Stinnes. He opened the rear door, leapt out, and dashed to the door leading to the rest of the building.

The next vehicle to arrive was the Chrysler that had taken two of Eliza's men to the Globe Studio Apartments. Derek was at the wheel. Both of the cars previous occupants were lying dead on the pavement as a result of a lethal encounter with Max Hardy. Derek killed the engine and got out, walking towards Eliza, cold anger written on his face.

"I tried to fucking tell you," he said to Eliza. "You're lucky I got there in time to pick up this car before the cops noticed it. And now there's two bodies. A blood trail, just like I said. And you better hope it doesn't lead the Feebs back here."

"They weren't carrying anything that would link them to us," she replied.

"You just better hope not. How the hell did you get her?"

"I had a man covering that alley on the other side of the building.," Eliza said. "It was big enough for the van. She went down that narrow alley. I could see from up top, and had him move and take her from behind. Where's Tanke?"

"In the other car. He'll be along soon. Did you search her?"

"Of course. Armed to the teeth. And I need to use your terminal."

"My terminal?"

"Yes," she said. "It's business." When he looked at her for a moment, she grinned and said "I promise not to look at your porn collection."

"I don't have a ..."

"I'm teasing," she interrupted. "And thanks for backing me up."

" I'll log you in," he replied.

The door opened, and Stinnes and Milani came through it Stinnes pushing a gurney while Milani held the door open. Stinnes rolled the gurney up next to the van while Milani shone a small light in Max's eyes and checked her pulse. "When did she eat last?" he asked Derek.

"How the fuck should I know?" Derek replied.

"Put her in a cage," Eliza said. "Give her some time to wake up. We'll start in on her later."

They placed Max on the gurney, tightened the straps down, and wheeled her toward the holding area. As they passed the server room outside the garage, Derek saw Zack Coleman standing in the hall. Upon seeing the unconscious agent being wheeled down the hall, Coleman stopped and stared. Derek left Kaminsky and Rodtwitt to get Max into her cage. "You get that stuff up and running?"

"Yeah," Coleman said. "Was that..."

"Yeah. Max Hardy. The Boss Lady wants to ask her some pointed questions. She'll be out for a while, so they won't start right away. Christ, what a goatscrew."

"What happened?"

"Long story. We shouldn't have done this, but I think we got away with it. But now the Boss Lady's gonna be kind of embarrassed because I was, of course, right. So she's likely gonna take it out on someone. I wouldn't want to be Max right now. I want a drink. But I'll have to settle for a soda. At least for now. Anyway, thanks."

"Sure."

Derek walked to the break room, intending to use the drink machine, having exhausted his own soda supply. He was looking with displeasure at the available choices, and wondering if he was actually that thirsty when Milani walked in. Seeing Derek, he froze.

"You can come in," Derek said. 'I don't bite. And even if I do, I've had my shots"

Milani went to the soda machine and began looking in his wallet, but found that he had only large bills and little change. "Here," Derek said, handing him a couple of ones. "On me. To make up for my earlier rudeness."

"Thank you," said Milani. He inserted the bills in the machine and made a selection.

"You know," Derek said, casually, "I read a paper you wrote."

"Really? Which one?"

"The Induction and Effect of Brain Dysfunction in Interrogation Subjects"

"It was not distributed as widely as it deserved to be," Milani replied. "I'm surprised you would have seen it. How did you come to read it?"

"I was preparing a rescue mission. To get Terry out. I wanted to know what kind of shape he might be in, what kind of medical help he might need during extraction, that sort of thing." Seeing a surprised look on Milani's face, he continued. "See, I found where you were holding him. That villa up in the hills. I watched you leave one afternoon, with that Lebanese chick. But I didn't try to follow. I didn't want to tip you off."

"I'm amazed," Milani said. "I had no idea you were so close to me."

"Most people don't, until it's too late. I had it all worked out. It was gonna be eight guys. Me and Faki, he was my sniper, were going to take out the sentries. I would leave a two man security element to watch the road, and the rest of us would go through that house and waste everyone except you. We'd brought a stretcher to carry Terry out, since we knew he wasn't ambulatory. Zip ties, because we figured he couldn't recognize his friends. Extraction would be by helo, and I had four more guys on ramp alert back at the FOB as a reaction force. Just in case. But I never could get clearance to go. Headquarters didn't want a diplomatic incident. They said stand down, so I stood down. And a good man died."

"Why not kill me?" Milani asked. "Were you planning to take me alive?"

"Actually, I was planning to zip tie you in that house. I'd brought a couple of Willie Pete ** grenades. I was gonna burn the place down with you in it. I wanted you to die screaming."

Milani was beginning to look as though he'd rather be someplace else. "The thing is," Derek said, "that was the last time I asked permission for anything. Now I just think shit up and do it. Truly, you changed my life."

"I should check on my patient," Milani said. He turned to go, but Derek grabbed his arm, and pulled him back. "I didn't tell you the best part," he said. "Did you know that of all the guys I've ever wanted to kill, you're the only one who's still breathing? You're like a blot on my perfect record, man."

"Please," Milani said. "You must understand. I was only doing my job."

"Derek!" Eliza was standing in the break room door, her voice like a drill sergeant's.

Derek released Milani and smiled. "I'm just fucking with you. You know that, right?"

"Computer. Now," Eliza said.

Derek turned and walked out, headed for his computer terminal with Eliza walking beside him, smoldering with anger. "What did I tell you?" she asked.

"I didn't do anything," Derek said innocently. "I was just telling a story. Making conversation, you know?"

"Stop terrorizing my staff."

XIII

"How did they find her?" Ryan asked. They were headed for the Williamsburg bridge over the East River, mostly to get away from the growing legion of law enforcement officers around the Globe Studio Apartments. So far it was just NYPD, but they were pretty sure the Bureau would show up at some point, and neither of them wanted to be around when that happened.

"Three possibilities," Mike replied. "One, Coleman sold her out. Two, Coleman was under suspicion, and they tailed him to the meet. Three, and my personal favorite, tracker bug. Think about it. You told us that Campbell planted one on you. Well, they planted a murder weapon, which means they were in her car. So maybe they planted something else. She had a bag and a change of clothes. When she faded out this morning, she didn't know about the planted weapon. Shit. I should have thought of it sooner. I should have warned her. How much do you know about their operations in this area? Where would they take her?"

Ryan thought for a moment. "They won't take her to RCS. Global Sutler handles air freight. Jesus, they might stick her on a plane and move her somewhere."

"The first thing we have to do," Mike said, "Is call Jim Woloszyn. We have to assume the worst. They may find out where Gwen is. He has to prepare. And we have to tell Gwen."

"No way," Ryan replied. "Gwen can't know anything about this."

"Your secret identity is out, Ryan. They know about you, and we can't put the toothpaste back in the tube. If Gwen has a target painted on her back, then she has to be told." He reached for his phone. "In fact, Max was going to tell her this morning."

Ryan looked at him sharply. "Just to be clear," Mike said, "I'm not blaming you. But we are where we are." He placed a call on the burner. "We'll need more of these real soon," he said to Ryan, who nodded.

"This is Singleton Security," Mike said. "Jim, this is Mike Weston. I need to talk to Gwen." There was a pause, and Mike put the phone on speaker. Ryan glowered at Mike, but said nothing. "Gwen, it's Mike. I'm OK."

"Mike, what's happening? Please tell me. They say Max killed someone."

"It's a lie. Listen to me. I don't have much time. Max has been framed. And she's been captured. Not by the Bureau. By some other people. I'm sorry. They may find out where you are. Tell Jim he has to prepare for the worst."

"Who are they? Why are they doing this?"

"I can't explain. There's no time. I will get her back, I swear. And I will hunt down the people who did this."

"How? Mike you're all alone."

"No. I'm not alone. I can't explain right now, but I'm not alone. I have help That's all I can say right now. This is an open line. We love you. We both do. I'm sorry about all of this. I have to go now. Tell Jim to stay alert. And I will bring her home." He disconnected. _I will bring her home, or die trying._

"Thanks for not telling her," Ryan said.

"I didn't tell her because you're going to. That's your job. You still got some burners?" Ryan nodded. "Good. I'm going to call Zack Coleman."

"Max thought he was setting her up," Ryan said.

"If he's working for Theo, then he might be willing to help us out of self preservation. I'm going to call him and set up a meeting. He may know where Max has been taken. It's the only card I've got left to play."

"And if he sold her out?" Ryan asked.

"Then I'm going to hunt him down and kill him."

He took out a burner and a notepad with Coleman's number written in it. "I'll put this on speaker," he said.

"Zack Coleman", said a voice.

"Hey there. It's Mike Weston. I'm looking for my partner. She's gone missing."

" I can't talk right now. Maybe we could meet."

"Where are you now?" Mike asked.

"Elizabeth."

"Meet me at a place called Turner Street Partners. It's on Turner, near Kenilworth. One hour."

"I'll be there."

XIV

Dennis Fuchida stood in the narrow alley behind the Globe Studio Apartments. An NYPD detective was showing him the outlines on the pavement where two unknown men had died. In his hand was a plastic evidence bag containing the snubnose .38 that had been used to kill them.

"We ran the serial number," the detective, a slender, thirtyish man with buzzcut brown hair explained. "It was registered to Max Hardy. She probably kept it as a hideout piece when the was a cop."

"Any witnesses?" Dennis asked.

"Someone opened a door up on the third floor. Whoever was in there had put furniture against the door, and it slowed 'em down long enough for someone else to get out. They had a key to the room. We found the clerk dead. He was shot. No one heard anything, so we think they had a silencer."

"Witnesses saw a black van leave the next alley over. We're checking video surveillance. A woman came down the fire escape. Tall, slender, brunette. It could have been her. A homeless guy who was dumpster diving saw a couple of guys throw an unconscious woman in that van. We're knocking on doors, looking for anyone who might have seen what happened."

"Thanks," Dennis said. The detective walked away. Dennis turned to his partner. Jermaine Waller, was a black man in his mid thirties, bald, with a short, neatly trimmed beard. "If she's got a few million in an offshore account," Dennis said, "then she ought to be someplace warm, working on her tan. Instead she's in a shootout with someone's tactical team. You know what we are? Mushrooms. Kept in the dark, and fed horseshit."

"Maybe whoever she's working for decided it was cheaper to kill her and save the thirty pieces of silver."

"No," Dennis said, " they wanted her alive, and they went to a lot of trouble. I want to see that video. And I want to talk to Shelby."

XV

Turner Street Partners had once been a warehouse. It still was, in a way, but now what it warehoused was the homeless. The place had been condemned as a menace to human health and safety. It still was. It provided a place for addicts, lunatics, and other unfortunates to get in out of the cold under conditions that were neither healthy nor safe. Today it would also provide Mike and Ryan with a place where they could meet Coleman with some degree of privacy.

They each had taken a small hand radio, which would allow them to communicate without using their phones. Mike had chosen a place inside, after evicting a couple of junkies. It was a front room littered with junk and used needles, smelling of urine and bodies that hadn't been washed since the Bush II Administration. Ryan was outside. Coleman wouldn't know him on sight, or so they hoped. If Coleman brought anyone with him, Ryan could spot them and call a warning to Mike. Mike had chosen this room because the broken window in what had once been an office gave him a view of the street, and there was a back exit he could use to escape if Coleman showed up with a team intent on taking them.

Ryan's voice came over the radio. "He's here. And he's alone."

"Ok," Mike said. "Let him come in and then you join us."

Mike looked out the window and saw Coleman walking towards the door. Coleman paused a moment when he saw Mike, but then walked in.

"Did you sell her out?" Mike asked.

"No, I didn't. I swear. They brought her in. I don't know how they got to her."

"Brought her in where?"

Coleman hesitated for a moment. He might have been about to speak, or possibly about to bolt for the door. "You know what happens now," Mike said. "They'll make her talk. And then they'll come for you. Theo can't help you. He'll kill you now, because if they get you, they'll make you talk about him. You know that's true. It's why you've come here. But it's not Eliza you should be afraid of now. Or Theo. It's me. Because she is everything to me. And if you don't help me get her back, you will not leave this room alive."

Ryan walked in behind Coleman, who turned, startled. "Is he going to help us?" Ryan asked. "Or is this going to get ugly?"

"Who is this?" Coleman asked.

"A friend of mine," Mike replied.

"You're Ryan Hardy," Coleman said. "Theo thought you were still alive."

"We'll talk about my resurrection some other time," said Ryan. "Tell us about Max. Is she OK?"

"Yeah. I saw them bring her in. She was drugged, but I don't think she was hurt."

"Where?" Ryan asked.

"Fairfax International Forwarding, in Elizabeth. It's a front company. They keep prisoners out there sometimes. People who are going to the House. Sometimes they take people there if they won't talk."

"Tell us about the security," Ryan said.

"There's a perimeter fence. Two guards on the front gate. Video surveillance in back. There's a pair of video cameras, and two more men in a security room near the main office. So there's at least four guys all the time. Sometimes there's a lot more. There might be ten or twelve people in there right now. It varies."

"What do you do out there?" Ryan asked.

"I work on the IT systems. I've just been promoted. I'll be taking over a lot of the Organization's IT work."

"This fence," Ryan said. "Is there a snitch wire?"

"No"

"Access to the building," Ryan said.

"The doors have digital locks. You need a card with an RFID chip or you can enter a code on the keypad."

"We need a card or an access code," said Mike.

Coleman shook his head. "No. I can access the security codes, but if you use a code it's logged, and if I create a new one, then there's a record of that. I'd be signing my own death warrant.'

"Hey, I've got an idea," Ryan said to Mike. "I bet he's got a card to get in, since he works there. Let's beat him to a bloody pulp, slit his throat, then take his phone and his wallet so it looks like a robbery. Then we could just walk right in. What do you think?"

"I like it," Mike said. "Simple plans are always the best."

" I can give you a code belonging to someone else," Coleman said..

"See?" Ryan said to Mike. "It's just like they say. Necessity is the mother of invention."

"And sometimes it's just a mother," Mike observed.

"But they're still gonna look into it, and I will be under suspicion because I had access," said Coleman, pleading in his voice.

"You say these locks are digital," Ryan said. "Do you know what kind? I mean the make, the model..."

"Schrader Digital. I don't know the exact model number."

"How old?" Ryan asked.

"I don't know. A few years. They haven't had the place all that long."

"OK," Ryan said. "Here's what we're going to do. I need a street address for this place, and you have to draw us a diagram to help us find our way around inside. And we will be taking your access card."

""Like hell"

"You're going to go back to the office, and steal or create a code we can use. That code will be plan B. Plan C will be your card if the code you give us isn't good, or you try to double cross us. We'll return the card after we're done."

"What's plan A?" Coleman asked.

"You don't need to know that," Ryan replied. "But plan A is we may be able to get in with no code at all. I'm pretty good at getting into places. I've had some practice. So, you draw us that diagram, and get to the office. Call the number I give you, it's a burner, and give me a code I can use."

"One thing," Mike said. "If you try to double cross us, I'll make it back. Because I will have nothing left to live for except watching you die."

"He means it," Ryan said. "So let's be sure to get this diagram right."

XVI

The first thing she became aware of was her cramped, uncomfortable position. She tried to straighten out, and found she couldn't. She opened her eyes, and discovered the reason why.

She was in a cage, and it wasn't big enough to stand in, or lie down in. She was lying on her side, on a hard steel surface. Her neck was sore and cramped from being without support. Her legs were folded up in an almost fetal position, and she couldn't straighten them all the way out, because the bars were in the way. Her hands were behind her back, and when she tried to move them apart, she found she couldn't. Zip ties. She tried to sit up, and found, to her surprise, that she could manage it with some difficulty.

There were other cages around the room, but none were occupied. The room was bathed in harsh, blue white light. The floor was cement, and the walls were cinder block painted beige. Steel doors on opposite sides of the room. She realized that her jacket, shoulder holster, and boots were gone. So was her watch. There were no clocks on the walls, either. Isolation and time loss, she realized, meant to soften her up for interrogation. The thought made her think of Ranson and his wife.

She looked around the room, and realized that there were video cameras mounted on the walls.

So they knew she was awake. They might leave her here to stew in her own fear, and think about what was about to happen, or maybe they'd be coming for her in a few minutes. She was pretty sure they hadn't seen her lose that phone. So she'd tell them that she was in that roach hotel to hide from the Bureau and get in out of the cold. Maybe they'd buy that story if she stuck to it, but probably not before working her over first. And then there was Gwen, She knew where Gwen was, and if they asked about that...

 _I have to buy time for Gwen. And for Jim. Mike and Ryan can warn them, maybe hide them for a while longer. I know they'll make me talk. But I have to buy time for Gwen and Ryan Junior, and I have to keep Zack Coleman out of it. I know he's a piece of shit, but he was my source, I brought him there, and I'm responsible._

 _I can't do this. I can't. But I don't have a choice._ She realized she was shaking with fear.

XVII

Eliza sat at Derek's terminal, watching his printer spit out page after page of a file. He looked over her shoulder, and realized that she was printing out part of the Organization's current file on Max Hardy.

"Doing your homework?" he asked.

"I have something in mind. You can watch me work."

"Must I?"

"I'd like you too, yes. You're not squeamish are you?"

"No, I'm not squeamish. I've done this sort of thing myself, you know."

"This sort of thing? It's called torture. You can say the word. I believe in your former career they called it enhanced interrogation. The people in power always have to use euphemisms to hide the pain. They're afraid that if they told the truth about what they do, people wouldn't let them do it. They're probably right. But as it stands, the people prefer the lies, the euphemisms, and the weasel words. It gets them off the hook. Let's them duck responsibility, or so they think." She gathered up the last of the printout into a sheaf. "So have you developed a conscience? Or do you like her?"

He thought for a moment. "No to both. This is business to me. It's personal to you."

"It's been personal to you, at times. That story you told Milani."

"I didn't say I was better then you. I'm just different."

"Yes, you are," she said. "And I like that. You know, today was the second time you've gone out of your way for me. Either you're awfully dedicated, or you're falling for me."

"I'm awfully dedicated," he said.

"Uh huh. Well, since you're so dedicated, you can watch me work. May I ask you something very personal?"

"Yes"

"I know that your wife left you. I know it was very hard for you. Are you over it?"

"Yeah. Pretty much."

"Then will you come with me to the House this weekend?."

He hesitated for a moment. "Yes," he said.

"Because you're so dedicated, or because you're falling for me, just a little bit? No, don't answer. You don't have to." She smiled. "The reason I never use euphemisms or weasel words is that I don't need to. What I do I do by right. I am a predator, and as Spengler, said, I never tolerate an equal in my den. Max thought she was my equal, and she will pay for it."

Kaminsky entered. "Excuse me," he said. "The doctor wanted me to tell you that she's awake."

"Get her," Eliza said.

XVIII

Max was startled by the sound of one the heavy doors opening. Three men entered, and opened her cage by removing the top of it, allowing them to lift her out by her arms. She was unsteady on her feet after her period of confinement in the cage. She had no idea how long she'd been in there, but it felt like it might have been days. They marched her through the door, a man holding each arm, the third walking behind her, and into the next room.

Like the cage room, it was, lit with a harsh, bright white light, with white walls that were covered with some kind of tiles. Soundproofing, she realized. On the wall to her right was a large mirror, probably a panel of one way glass for observers in the next room, and another door next to the mirror. In the center of the room, directly in front of her, was a gleaming steel chair that made her think vaguely of an electric chair, fitted with straps, and with some kind of complicated clamp at the top for the victim's head.

No, she corrected herself. For her head.

There were IV stands on either side of it, and what looked like a hospital type heart rate monitor. In front of it was a rectangular table with two chairs behind it. On it sat an open laptop and some electronic equipment she didn't recognize. A tall middle aged man with graying hair, dressed in dark slacks and a gray button down shirt was fiddling with one of the electronic devices on the table.

She knew she couldn't escape, but she couldn't just let them put her in that chair. She had to fight, if only to keep her self respect. She tried twisting her body to break the grip on her arms, but it was useless. The man behind her jabbed a taser in her ribs, and hit the switch. She cried out in pain, and dropped to the hard floor. "Don't be stupid," One of the men said. "Stupid hurts."

They picked her up easily, and removed the zip ties on her wrists. They threw her into the chair, and began strapping her in. One of the men began fitting the clamp around her head. A steel band went around her neck. Then two halves of a padded vise were tightened, until she could not move her head at all. Another band went around her forehead. Satisfied that she was helpless, the three men walked out, leaving her alone with the tall man working on the equipment. He turned to her, and wheeled an IV stand closer to her. He took an IV needle, and brought it closer to her right hand. She realized what he was going to do, balled her hand into a fist, and tried to keep him from getting a good grip on it.

"Don't struggle," he said. "I'll have the men come back and hurt you again. As many times as necessary." She relaxed her hand. He inserted an IV needle into a vein in the back of her hand, and secured it in place with a piece of sticky tape. He moved another stand to her left, and repeated the procedure with her other hand.

He then attached a heart rate monitor to her left index finger, and fitted her with a blood pressure cuff. Two small electrodes were wrapped around the index and ring fingers of her right hand, and held in place by velcro. Two elastic band were wrapped around her chest. This was starting to resemble a polygraph. But then he attached two odd looking devices to the vise around her head. She could really make out what they were, but they were at about eye level, and just inside her peripheral vision. Ir almost looked like something an eye doctor would use. Finally, he taped a couple of electrodes in place with sticky pads to her forehead. She realized that the leads from all of these devices were plugged into the laptop on the table.

Apparently satisfied with his handiwork, the man picked up a syringe and began filling it from a small bottle on the table.. She looked at the one way glass on the wall in front of her, wondering who was watching, and she looked at the terrified woman strapped to the chair. She thought about Ranson and his wife. The fingernails pulled out. The burns. _Oh God, I'm only twenty nine._

The door next to the one way glass window opened, and Eliza entered, carrying a manila folder, which she placed on the table with the laptop. She opened it, and took out a small object that Max couldn't quite make out.

"They say," Eliza began, "that the greatest punishment we face at Judgement is a moment of clarity. So let me show you something." She walked closer and held the device in her hand in front of Max's face. "A tracker bug. One of my men put it in your jacket when he planted that barrel and silencer." She put the tracker bug down on the table, and took her phone out of her jacket pocket. She ran her fingers across its face, and then held it where Max could easily see the screen.

It was video of her and Mike questioning Ranson in the Winston-Salem resident agency. Max realized that someone had been in the other room with a phone, recording every word.

"So you see," Eliza continued, "you never had even the ghost of a chance. You were overmatched from the beginning. This is your moment of clarity, Max. What do you think of it?"

"I think you're going to find out about Judgement too. Mike and Ryan will hunt, and hunt, and hunt until they find you, and find you they will."

"No," Eliza said. "They won't. Because I'll have Doctor Carter and her son as hostages. Ryan's greatest fear was always that the people he loved would be made to suffer for his actions. If you had been smart, it would have been yours too. I've had it with Ryan, and it's time to send a message. So tell me where Gwen Carter is."

Max considered several possible replies, most of them obscene. In the end, she sat in silence, because she was afraid her voice would shake with fear, ruining the effect of her defiance.

"I once told Ryan that I don't like torture," Eliza said. "I don't think I told him why. You're a brave woman, Max, and that's the problem. If I threaten you with torture, you'll be brave, and refuse to talk. Then I'll have to torture you. You'll break, of course. Everyone does. But it would be up to you how much pain, how much irreversible damage, you'd take to protect Gwen. And afterwards, you'd console yourself with the thought that you held out as long as you could. That's the problem. I don't want to give you a choice, I want to take your choices away. And I don't want you being brave on me. So..."

She nodded to the man holding the syringe, who removed the needle from the end of it, connected it to the port on the IV tube, and pushed the plunger.

"In answer to your unspoken question," said Eliza, "that's not some sort of truth drug. So called truth serum is pretty much a myth. That's just a mild stimulant. It's not even particularly unpleasant. It'll make you feel a little light headed. You may get a hot, flushed feeling in your face, like you've just come in out of the cold and into a warm room. Your pupils will dilate. It keeps you from controlling your own physical responses."

"Gwen wasn't home when my team arrived. It looked like she left suddenly. I think you called someone to pick her up. I'm going to get that name out of you, and I won't even have to hurt you to do it. You're wired up to something similar to a polygraph. It measures heartbeat, BP, respiration, GSR...a few other things. But what it really measures is stress, and fear. I'm going to read off a list of names. People you know. People you've worked with, friends...your whole life is an open book to us. Some of the names will be fictitious. Those are controls. Changes in your stress level will tell us when I've come to the right name. Then we'll go and collect Doctor Carter and little Ryan. And I'm going to murder the person who helped you, and their entire family. And you will sit in your cage knowing that innocent people died because you involved them, and because they trusted you, and you couldn't protect them. It's that simple, Max. I'll just read a list of names. Your mind will do the rest."

Max could feel herself becoming dizzy. Her face felt as though she were holding it in the door of a hot oven. She looked at herself in the reflective glass, but didn't see herself blushing. "So let me get this straight. Your plan is to threaten everyone they love, and you think this will cause Ryan and Mike to leave you alone? Let me know how that works out for you."

"One other thing," Eliza replied, smiling. "We'll need to gag you. It's to keep you from interfering with the test results. Doctor, if you would, please."

The man she referred to as doctor picked up what looked like a medical mouth protector. "Open your mouth," he said. "I don't want to hurt you unnecessarily." Once the rubber device the was between her teeth and held in place by a metal rod attached to the vise, he sat down in front of the laptop. Eliza sat to his right and opened up the folder in front of her. "Let's get started," she said. "Gina Mendez" She stopped, and waited several seconds before continuing. "Dennis Fuchida. Jermaine Waller..."

XIX

They looked at the aerial view of Fairfax that they had called up on the screen of Ryan's phone. They were sitting in the parking lot of a hardware store, having just loaded their purchases. A cold rain had begun to fall At the moment, it was just a sprinkle, but more was expected, with the possibility of sleet later in the evening. "He should have called by now," Mike said.

"We have his card," Ryan replied. "And our little door opener."

"He could change the code, and that thing we bought may not work."

"We won't wait for him. We can't. If he hasn't called by the time we get there, then we'll go with what we have. Now from what he told us, the door we want is on the back side of the building. This place is sandwiched between the airport and the waterfront. There's the interstate on one side, and this access road on the other. We get off the interstate, and get onto the access road. As we approach, we'll have this vacant lot on our left. Looks like it's maybe four hundred feet across, and it's on the back side of the building. So you can get over the fence on that side. You'll be facing the back of the building. This area here is open, and it can be seen from this building over here, so we have to work fast. It's a crappy night out, so there shouldn't be a lot of people outside to see us."

"There's video cameras," Mike said.

"We use the carbines, and shoot them out," Ryan replied. They're silenced. No one will hear. There's two cameras back here. If we hit them both at the same time, the guys inside will check for internal malfunction first. It's easier to check for a glitch indoors than it is to look for guys climbing the fence on a night like this."

"Once you get over the fence, you have to move to this back door, get it open, and get inside. You'll be close to where they keep prisoners. Be quick. Find her, kill anyone that gets in the way. As soon as you're over I'll go round to the front and do the guys on the gate. We'll need the truck to get her out. You have to get her as far as this roll up door to the garage. If she can't walk, radio, and I'll come in through the door you went in through and help."

Mike studied the picture on the screen, seemingly lost in thought. "You ready?" Ryan asked.

"Yeah. I as just thinking about something Max told me. She said there's no calling for backup now. We're it. Little did she know."

A phone buzzed in Ryan's inside coat pocket. He took it out and looked at the screen. "Coleman," he said. "Tell me we have access," he said into the phone. He looked at Mike. 'Write this down. 35217304. Got it. Thanks." He disconnected, and looked at Mike. "He came through, maybe. So let's do this."

XX

Eliza read off her list of names slowly and deliberately while Max tried to think of some way to fight what was happening. She had tried holding her breath to see if she could slow down her heart rate. She thought maybe if she could somehow change her vital signs she could keep the machine from working.. She wanted to weep with frustration, but refused to give the bitch the satisfaction.

"Max, stop that."

"Unh?" Max blinked in surprise that Eliza had stopped reading names. She could barely make out Eliza, who was blurred by her dilated pupils and a cataract of sweat and tears.

"You're holding your breath, trying to change the readings. Stop doing that." Eliza adjusted the IV drip into Max's right hand. She brushed back a bit of hair stuck to Max's sweat slick forehead. "Just relax," she said, in a calm, reassuring voice. " You can't fool us, you know. The Doctor and I have both done this many times. We know all the tricks." Eliza gently stroked Max's hair for a moment _._ "Just give her a minute,"Eliza said to the doctor.Eliza kept stroking her hair _._ "That's it. Just take it easy. You're doing fine."

"It's OK, Max," she said soothingly. " I understand. I won't be angry at you for fighting it. You need to fight. Your self image requires it. And I need for you to fight, so that you can learn just how hopeless that is." She picked up a soft cloth and gently wiped the sweat and tears from Max's face. "You wouldn't really want to succeed, would you? Just think. If you could somehow win, if you could somehow beat the machine, I might go and kill the wrong person by mistake. And it would be your fault. You wouldn't want that, would you? We'd have to start all over again. Or if you really could resist, we'd have to use the mechanicals. Beatings. Electric shocks. Water. Neither one of us wants that."

Eliza's voice seemed to be coming through a very long tube. "You don't need to be embarrassed. If you need to cry, go ahead." Max realized that despite her resolve not to cry, that she was sobbing. The tears that stung her dilated eyes weren't just from the pain of the harsh lighting. She was fighting to retain some shred of control, and she was losing.

"How's she doing?" Eliza asked.

"She's good. She's responding normally now. You can continue."

Eliza took her hand away from Max's hair, and resumed reading off of her list. "Jenny Hardy. Amy Klesko. Brent Nelson." She kept reading the names slowly. Max wasn't sure how long it continued. After a few minutes, or perhaps an hour, Eliza stopped.

She realized that Eliza had stopped reading off names. She turned her eyes to Eliza and the Doctor, who was studying the laptop intently. "Well?" Eliza said.

"Her stress level went through the roof when you said Jim Woloszyn. That's who you're looking for."

Eliza smiled, stood, and walked over to Max. She removed the nasty tasting rubber mouth protector . "You see how easy that was? I just took a secret from you that you would have died to protect. And I did it without hurting you. Just imagine what I'll take from you when I do begin hurting you.

"Please," Max said. "Don't hurt them. I'm the one you hate. I'm the one you're mad at. If you need to hurt someone then hurt me."

Max noticed that the man behind her was filling another syringe. "I don't hate you, Max," Eliza said. " I don't. We're about predation, not destruction. We don't destroy others, we sacrifice them to our pleasure. Hate doesn't enter into it. I toy with my prey. It is, after all, mine."

The Doctor took the second syringe, connected it to the same port he had used earlier, and injected its contents into Max's veins. She felt it take hold almost immediately . Her vision began to blur, and the strong light in the room hurt her eyes. She realized her pupils were dilating. It caused her eyes started to water. She hated that, because she didn't want the bastard to think she was crying. Her heart was racing, and she felt occasional twitches in her arms and legs, as if from muscle spasms.

The Doctor got up and walked over, leaned forward. He held her right eye open and shone a light in it. With her pupils dilated, it was painfully intense. She tried to close her eye and turn her head to escape the light. Both were futile. Her eyes filles with tears, and her torturers became a blur. "She's responding well," he commented.

"What are you doing to me?" she asked. She hated asking the question, because it showed fear. But she wanted to know the worst.

""I'm breaking you, Max," Eliza replied. You'll be getting a lot of drugs. Different drugs. And you'll undergo a number of different procedures. Depatterning. Psychic driving. And more. It would be tiresome to explain them all, and anyway you'll find out soon enough, so I won't bother. You won't die. But I'll take everything you are a bit at a time."

"Do you know about the starfish and the oyster? The oyster is protected by a hard shell. The starfish attaches itself, and begins to exert pressure with it's arms and hundreds of little suckers. If one gets tired, the starfish simply begins to use another. So it's patient, and relentless. The starfish has time, and the oyster can't escape. The oyster fights so hard, because it's fighting for its life. But eventually it gets tired of fighting. It simply can't fight any longer. Finally, the oyster, which was so hard and tough on the outside, is left open, vulnerable, soft, and completely defenseless. And the starfish consumes it, leaving nothing behind but an empty shell. That's how it will be with us. You'll fight, but I have unlimited time. And in the end, all that will be left of you is an empty shell. I want you to think about that, while I'm killing the people who trusted you to protect them." She turned, and walked out.

The Doctor motioned to the reflective glass, and the three men who had carried her here emerged from the door. He began removing the IVs from her hands, and the men started unstrapping her from the chair.

As they loosened her straps, she realized that the tears running down her face weren't just from herdilated pupils. In spite of her resolve, she really was crying. _They're going to die because of me. Gwen, Jim, Ryan Junior. I failed everyone. She's right. I can't fight her. This is my moment of clarity._

XXI

"Well?" Eliza said to Derek. They were standing in the adjacent room, watching Stinnes, Kaminsky, and Tanke lift the boneless woman from the chair. Milani slipped a hood over her head, and they began half carrying, half dragging her away.

" What was that shit he just gave her?"

"It's a cocktail, actually. Adrenaline. Dopamine. Pipadrol, Also a type of synthetic amphetamine. It doesn't shoot the blood pressure up, so it's a lot safer than the stuff you see on the street. It's Russian, actually. The Communists had a penal psychiatry system for dissidents back in the days, so they had actual human subjects to experiment on. Milani's degree is from Russia, by the way. He studied under the experts. She won't be harmed by it physically. But she'll sitting in a cage, hooded, bound. feeling like she's crawling out of her skin. Sensory deprivation, hallucinations... It'll soften her up for the next session."

"So why put on a show for me? Is this some kind of a test?"

"Actually, yes"

"So do I pass?"

"It's not pass fail. I grade on the curve. I want to know about you, so I want you to see me as I am."

"Well if that's how you are, then Jesus fucking Christ."

"You need to start seeing things differently," she said. "We're the elite. And we're the future. The world is ours, not because we conquered it, but because the sheeple gave it to us. It was too much trouble for them. Too much responsibility. So they gave it to us to run. So if we're going to do their thinking for them, we might as well enjoy them in the process. Life should be a pleasure, after all."

"I think your pleasures are a little more...evolved than mine."

"That's an interesting way to put it. Let's go get Doctor Carter. And after, we can have some pleasures that are a little bit less evolved."

"I wouldn't recommend taking that van"

"I wasn't going to," she smiled. "I like how you worry about me. I think you're the only one who does. We'll use a couple of cars. Stinnes and Kaminsky will take one car, we'll take the other."

XXII

Rain pelted the windshield as the Ryan and Mike approached Fairfax International. Mike was on pins and needles. They'd checked the area by street view, but the map was not the terrain. If something had been built where they planned to approach and cross the fence, then their whole plan was shot. The backup plan was to attack from the front, but that was riskier. As their target came into view on the left, they could see that the space behind was still vacant, but it was also fenced off. There were two gates to the roadway. One was blocked by yellow concrete posts, but the second was barred by a gate held together by a padlock and chain.

"I'm glad you thought of those bolt cutters," Mike said.

"I've done this a lot. You'll have to cut it. I can't near that piece of kryptonite in the back."

"You're not Superman, Ryan, you're Batman," Mike said grinning.

"Hurry up, boy wonder."

Mike jumped out of the truck, and retrieved the bolt cutters they'd bought in case they had to cut through the fence. As he picked them up, he glanced at the plastic tray sitting next to them. Inside it was a sock, knotted at one end. Inside that sock was Ryan's "kryptonite."

He made short work of the chain, and they pulled into the empty lot. Ryan killed the headlights on the truck. Ryan cautiously picked out a spot about fifty yards back from the fence they had to cross. They'd hit the cameras first from a safe distance before pulling up to the fence to cross it.

Ryan faced the truck towards the fence, rolled down the windows, and he and Mike got their carbines out from behind the seat. They could each shoot using the door as a rest to steady their aim. They would only get one shot at this. You see the cameras?" Ryan asked. Those poles, there, and there."

"Got 'em"

"I have the one on the left, you've got the one on the right."

Mike took a careful aim at the right hand camera, centering the target precisely in the crosshairs. He flipped the safety off his carbine, took up the slack in the trigger, and waited for Ryan's signal.

"On my mark," Ryan said. Mike drew in a breath, and began to exhale slowly. It would steady his aim. "Three, two, one, mark."

Mike squeezed the trigger on his carbine. There was a slight cough from the silencer on the end of the muzzle, and a simultaneous sound from Ryan's weapon. He saw fragments fly away from the plastic cover over the camera lens, and realized he'd made a perfect shot. "Got it!" he exulted.

"Same here. Get in the back."

Mike flipped the carbine to Safe, slung it over his shoulder, and leaped up into the back of the truck. He began undoing the safety latches on the ladder they had put in the back. He had just got the ladder partly extended when Ryan hit the gas, and the truck took off like a shot, headed for the fence. The cold rain had picked up. His hair was limp, and cold water ran down his face. His jacket was waterproof, but his pants were becoming soaked through. He didn't notice any of it.

XXIII

The two men sat in the security room at Fairfax. It had been the main office back when the place had been a legitimate business. Now it was a place where a pair of armed guards watched the video feed, and remained on standby in case of intruders or any other kind of trouble.

"Fucking hell", the first man said.

"What now?" asked the other, without looking up from his smart phone.

"We've lost the cameras in back."

The other man looked over at the monitors. " Server reboot, or more likely a SAN problem. Give it a couple of minutes, and see if it comes back."

XXIV

Ryan brought the truck up next to the fence, with the fence on the left side. Mike threw the ladder up on the fence, and reached for the knotted sock in its plastic tray, and jammed it into his back pocket to keep it away from the small radio he had in his inside jacket pocket. Next he picked up the rolled up fragment of carpet. He would throw it over the deadly sharp wire on top to keep it from cutting him to ribbons.

He put the carpet roll on his left shoulder and began to climb. He thought about what Coleman had said. There could be a dozen guys in there. _This is a job for HRT. Or the Navy SEALS. I'm just one guy. But I'm the only guy she's got._ He balanced on the ladder and threw the carpet over the wire. He began to clamber over it, half expecting the wire to rip through the carpet and his flesh besides.

He dropped to the ground and rolled. He stood, and saw Ryan pulling the ladder down. Ryan gave him a thumbs up, and Mike ran the short distance to the building. There was a roll up door to the garage, and to the left of it, a regular door. Next to this door was a numeric keypad with a red light above it. To open it, you would enter a code, or hold up a card with a chip. The light should turn green, and the door should then open. But Ryan wanted him to try something else, something that wouldn't involve a code or chip that might immediately compromise Coleman.

Mike reached into his hip pocket and pulled out the sock. Inside it was a rare earth magnet, like a gleaming silver hockey puck. It's powerful magnetic field would destroy electronics, including Ryan's pacemaker, which was why Ryan had to stay well away from it. Mike placed the sock magnet on the metal door. It grabbed on tight. The sock made it easier to slide around. Mike moved the magnet close to the bolt hidden inside the door, and began moving the magnet away from the door jamb. There as a clunk as the powerful magnetic field pulled the bolt, which was made of ferrous metal, out of its slot in the door frame. *** The light remained red, but the door opened slightly, and he pushed it open the rest of the way. He unslung his carbine, flipped the safety off, and stepped inside the garage.

Parked inside was a black Explorer van, dark blue Porsche 911, and a black Acura. Mike could see ahead and on the left a double door. If Coleman was telling the truth, that was the way to the prisoner holding area, and Max.

XXV

"It's not coming back," said the first man.

"Go check the equipment," said the second, his fingers moving across the screen of his phone. From the phone came the sounds of some type of game.

"You go check the equipment," the first man countered. "You can actually do something around here for a change." The second man made no move to get up. "Or I can 'em that you're playing with your phone on the job, which you are not supposed to do. Do you know what that asshole Hands did to the last guy that got caught doing that? He broke his fingers."

"Shit. OK, I'll go." The man put his phone down, stood, and walked out, headed for the server room next to the garage.

XXVI

Ryan prepared to pull out onto the access road that led toward the front gate at Fairfax. He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a pint bottle of Jim Beam. He took a large swig, washed his mouth with it, and then opened the door and spat it out onto the ground. Then he tossed the bottle out.. He reached into the glove compartment for the silencer equipped Walther .22 pistol he had bought from Holman, and placed it on the front seat next to him.

He turned off the road, and rolled up to the gate on his left. There was a gatehouse, with two men inside. One of them, looking annoyed at having to leave his nice warm gatehouse, stepped outside and walked up to the truck.

"You can't be here buddy," he said.

"I'm sorry," Ryan said, leaning out the window so the man could smell his breath. "I came to ask for my job back."

"Wrong place, pal. You don't work here, and you never did and you never will."

Ryan looked around as though amazed at this revelation. "Dammit," he said. I was supposed to turn at the next entrance. I'm kinda upset."

"If you don't leave, pal, I'll give you something to really get upset about."

The second guard stepped out and joined the conversation. "What's all this?" he asked.

"This dude is looking for a job that he no longer has, and he won't find it here.'

"I'm sorry," Ryan said. "It's my own damn fault. It's the drinking."

"No shit," said the first man.

"I don't suppose you need any help here, do you?" Ryan asked.

"Afraid not. Now move."

Ryan's hand suddenly came up from the front seat, and the Walther was in it. He fired four times point blank at the first man. The first bullet struck him in the right eye. The rest were redundant. He switched his aim to the second man, who was reaching for the pistol he carried on his belt, but it was too late. Ryan emptied the magazine into him, and he fell to the pavement. Ryan got out of the truck, quickly entered the gate house, and hit the open button for the gate. This might well trip an alarm in the building, but if it did, they would respond to the threat at the gate first. This would distract attention from Mike, who was coming in through the back, and if things went wrong, it would give him more time to get to Max. The backup plan was that Mike would steal a vehicle from the garage if Ryan couldn't make it to the back to pick them up. Mike hadn't been happy about that part of the plan, but Ryan had insisted on a go to shit plan, just in case.

As the massive gate slowly slid open, Ryan got back in the truck, stepping over the bodies of the fallen guards. "Looks like you're going to have some job openings after all," he said.

XXVII

Mike crept down the hall from the garage towards double doors twenty feet ahead. There were doors on the right side of the hall, but these, Coleman had said, led to a large storage room where supplies were kept, including food and medical supplies for prisoners. He kept his carbine shouldered, ready to engage any target that appeared.

XXVIII

The second man took the shortest route to the server room. It took him through the break room where he found Tanke. "Working hard, I see," he remarked.

"Uh huh,"Tanke replied. "What are you doing back here?"

"Possible equipment problem. They say you're good with this stuff. You wanna help me check it out?"

"Sure," Tanke said. Let's go." They left the break room, and entered the hall through which Mike had passed, turned right, and entered the server room, placing them between Mike and the garage door he planned to use as an exit.

Tanke began checking the servers and the storage area network while the second man went through the motions of helping.

XXIX

Milani stood in the holding room, quietly watching the woman in the cage. She lay on the floor, zip tied hand and foot, and hooded. She occasionally twitched, wracked by muscle spasms The shot he'd given her should hold her for a while, he decided. He made a few notes on the clipboard he held.. He heard the doors behind him open. It always irritated him when guards tried to sneak into an area where a female prisoner was being held. He'd had a huge problem with that in some countries where he'd worked, and Eliza had assured him she would keep her people under control. "I said I did not want anyone in here without permission," he said irritably. "If Eliza knew you were in here..." As he turned to face the offender he found it was not one of Eliza's guards, but a man he had never seen before, pointing a gun at him.

Milani had perhaps a second and a half to realize his mistake, and then Mike Weston put three rounds into his chest.

XXX

The first man sat at the security console, waiting impatiently for the other to return. He should have been back by now. A buzzer announced that the front gate was opening. The man picked up his radio and called to his friend. "Are you there? We've got someone coming in the gate, and they never called up here."

"There's nothing wrong with this equipment," came the reply. "It must be something else."

"Then we've got intruders." His finger stabbed down on the alarm button.

XXXI

Mike walked over to the man he'd just shot, and quickly frisked him to make sure he wasn't armed, and that there was no weapon he could reach. The man was still alive, but bleeding badly, and wouldn't last long without medical attention. Mike didn't give a rat's ass. He turned his attention to the animal cage with the bound woman inside, and then began looking for latch to open it. He pulled the top door back . She was breathing. He reached down, and yanked the hood off her head.

It was Max. She cried out in terror, and flinched, apparently thinking her captors had returned. Mike stared in horror. Her pupils were badly dilated, and she was blinking at the harsh lighting in the room, which clearly hurt her eyes. Her skin was pale and sweaty. Her hair stuck to her head in wet strips. He reached into his pocket for the wire cutters he'd brought, and began cutting the zip ties from her hands and feet.

"Max, it's me. Are you OK? Can you walk?"

She did not answer but cringed as if she thought Mike was someone here to harm her. She kept blinking hard at him as if her eyes couldn't focus, and trembling.

"Max, come on. We have to get out of here."

A high pitched warbly alarm sounded. She blinked again, and recognition dawned on her face.

"Mike, it's you. It's really you."

"Yeah, it's really me. Can you walk?"

"I think so. Help me up."

Mike grasped her by the arm and pulled her to her feet. She stepped out of her cage while he supported her. He led her to the double doors, but placed her, leaning against the wall for support, so she would be out of the line of fire when he opened the door. He had no idea what was on the other side.

He cautiously pushed one of the metal doors open, and brought the muzzle of his carbine up to cover the hallway. At the far end, he could see two men emerging from the server room he'd passed when he left the garage. The men had pistols in their hands. They brought their guns up to fire, but not quickly enough. Mike centered the crosshairs of his scope on the first man's chest and squeezed off two shots. He dropped instantly. The second man had time to bring his pistol to bear and blazed away at Mike, but the shooter was startled, and his aim was wide. Bullets ricocheted off the cinder block walls, and the metal door. Mike ducked back quickly. He had no way of knowing how many more men were in the building. If he got pinned down, and more bad guys arrived...

He had two choices. Try to kill the second man before reinforcements arrived and he and Max were hopelessly trapped, or try to find another exit. He looked around. Max was still leaning on the wall for support Next to her was a map of the building that showed the fire exits. He looked at it quickly. There was a door at the other end of the room that led to two smaller rooms, but behind him was a storage room...and a fire exit.

He reached for his radio. "Ryan! Change of plans! We're cut off, we can't get to the garage. We're coming out the front. There's a door on the left side of the building. Be there!"

"On the way," Ryan answered.

XXXII

Derek's phone buzzed in his pocket. He looked at the screen. "Tanke," he said to Eliza, who was driving. "Hi Tanke," he said. A moment later he turned to Eliza. "We've been invaded. By Ryan. And Mike Weston."

"Whoever's left, make sure you cover the arms room," Derek said. "We're turning around and coming back."

"No," Eliza sharply. They're after Max Hardy."

"You got enough ammo and explosives in that arms room to be a superpower. If Hardy tosses some road flares, we're gonna have a Moon crater on the Jersey shore, and even you won't be able to explain it."

XXXIII

"Put your arm around me," Mike said. "We're almost there." As he said it, the door at the far end of the room, opened, and man armed with a pistol emerged. Mike brought his carbine up and dropped him in his tracks. "Come on!" he said. Max threw her left arm around his neck, and they started for the storage room door.

He threw the door open, and they found themselves facing a room full of metal storage shelves. Much of it looked like medical equipment and drugs. Beyond was another door, marked exit. It was less than fifteen feet away. Or maybe it was fifteen miles away. They made for the exit, when the door began to open. Oh Jesus, Mike thought. We're boxed in. Like dead rats.

It was Ryan. "I'll cover you," he said. "Haul ass!" He brought up his carbine and faced toward the door they had come through.

Mike more or less dragged Max through the door, and out into the cold rain. They reached the truck parked by the curb. Max's legs seemed to be giving out. Mike lifted her up, and all but threw her into the passenger seat. He climbed in after he, and saw Ryan getting in behind the wheel. He gunned the engine, and they were racing through the open gate and into the night.

Max clung to him like a drowning woman hanging on to a life ring. "Oh God, Mike. I was so scared," she sobbed. "I have never been so scared in my life."

"It's OK," he said. "You're safe now."

"She's going to kill Gwen," Max said, still sobbing. "She's going to kill everyone. She made me tell. I couldn't stop it. I couldn't. I am so, so sorry. It's my fault. I couldn't fight her."

Mike and Ryan looked at each other in horror. Mike pulled out a phone and called Jim.

"It's Singleton Security," he said. "Jim, they know where Gwen is. You have to call the police. Get someone out there now. Tell them the truth. Tell them everything. Do it now."

"Jim I'm sorry," Max bawled. "It's my fault. I'm sorry. Please forgive me."

Mike disconnected, and held her close. "They'll get someone out there," he said. "They will. It'll be OK. I don't know why you thought you had to do this alone. I told you that day, and you didn't believe me. I'll always be there for you. Whether you like it or not."

XXXIII

Derek stood in the equipment storage room with a cardboard box he had found in a storage room. He put his rat in the box, along with his coffee beans, his French press, his grinder, and some other assorted items from his locker.

Eliza walked in behind him, obviously in a slow burn. "What's this?" she asked.

"I'm packing," he said. "We have to sterilize this place. It's compromised. You have to get a crew up here and start moving stuff. You'll have to send down to that fortress you have in Virginia. We've lost some manpower today.'

"We need to go back out there and get Gwen," She said.

Derek picked up his box of possessions. "This is a typhoon, Captain Queeg. We'll hunt the strawberries later. They've called a warning. Right now we're playing defense. That little commando raid they pulled required inside information. Get a cleanup team from somewhere. The place is soundproofed, so no one heard the weapons fire. Tell 'em to take care of the bodies. Starting tomorrow, you and I are going on a molehunt. Someone's going to pay for this."

"And where are you going tonight?"

"Dinner. And so are you. It's been a long day. I need something to eat. And a martini. Or two. Or three."

"You're just going to go get drunk?"

"Yeah. And you're coming with me. Predators have to eat, too. I'll take you out for a steak. And after... we might just do a lot more than get drunk."

XXXIII

Zack Coleman walked into his apartment and turned on the light to find Theo sitting on his couch.

"Hello Mister Shiny," Theo said.

Coleman froze. "Theo. I was just going to call you."

"No need," Theo said. "I already know. I'm plugged into their system thanks to you. Someone hit Fairfax hard tonight. That required inside information. Which you provided."

"No," Coleman said. "I didn't. I wouldn't betray you."

"Oh, come on Zack. We both know you've betrayed everyone. It's what you do. It's a result of bad character. Don't worry, I'm not here to kill you. Not tonight, anyway."

"Why are you here?" Coleman asked.

"To every man upon this Earth death cometh soon or late. That's a line from poem. Do you know it?"

"No"

"Horatious At The Bridge. I think your death cometh fairly soon, but you're still useful, at least for a while."

"I need to get out," Coleman said. "I've helped you Theo. You've got money, you can help me. Please. I need an escape plan. Papers. Money. You've made a bundle selling information, and you know people. You could help me. I have to have a way out."

"Been there, done that," Theo said with a humorless smile. "But I had to make a deal. And the person I dealt with wasn't very trustworthy."

"What do you want?"

"I once told Ryan Hardy that I'd take his entire future. And I will. You'll help me do that."

"How?"

"Hardy and his people will come to you for more help. Give it to them."

"Huh?"

"By helping them, you will help bring them to me."

"I don't understand."

"It's not important that you understand. It's only important that you do what I say. You wanted to play the Great Game, Mister Shiny. So welcome to the big leagues."

Musical Interlude - Rise Again By The Dreaming

* An inside the waistband holster is just what it says. The holster rides inside the waistband and is secured by belt loops or a clip. A gun carried in this way can be concealed readily under a short jacket. This is a common method of carry, but is basically never seen in Hollywood. It would create issues for the wardrobe department, and it actually conceals the gun. Hint: holsters in movies and TV shows are generally designed to display, not conceal, the hero's gun, so as to emphasize that the hero has a gun and is therefore really cool. This explains why Mike Weston and Tom Reyes both wore their guns outside the waistband below a short jacket, even though in real life plainclothes officers never do this. Something similar can happen with female characters as well. In the Boxed In episode, Max Hardy wears a holster under her raid jacket. It's basically in the correct place, on her right hip where she can get to it. But carried in this way, it can be sometimes be seen peeking out from under her jacket. But in any scene where she isn't wearing a jacket, that holster migrates back until her gun is on her ass. No male character on the Following ever carried a gun on his ass. (Note that there are holsters designed to carry a gun on the small of the back, but they aren't the type Max Hardy was wearing.)

Note that I'm not meaning to give Shawn Ashmore or Jessica Stroup a hard time. Both are exceptional actors. They got paid to do what the director said. Nor is this sort of thing unique to The Following. Once you become aware that Hollywood is doing this, you'll start seeing it over and over again.

** Military slang for white phosphorus, a type of incendiary. FOB is short for Forward Operating Base

*** Rare earth magnets can be used to open far too many locks, including safes, and apartment and hotel room doors. There have been lawsuits over locks that failed to keep out intruders using rare earth magnets. I'm not sure how, or even if, those have been resolved. Many locks out there were designed before rare earth magnets became common items. Ryan, who learned a thing or two about breaking and entering from his vigilante phase, knew that Schrader Digital, (A fictitious brand), had a history of problems.

Note: Rare earth magnets are dangerous. They will kill your phone, they will kill your computer, and if you have a pacemaker, they will kill you.

A few random notes. Hotel room doors are often a lot less secure than management would have you believe, and hotel room invasions are becoming more common. The people who commit these crimes can be quite violent. A door kedge with an alarm will give you more security than a nightstand, and they don't cost much.

Yes, you really can fire a revolver in a coat pocket. No, it won't catch the coat on fire. You can fire a semiauto in a pocket too, but only once, because when the slide recoils the gun will jam.


	16. Ch 16 - One Strauss To Rule Them All

Disclaimer: It's fanfic, meaning I don't own anything or make any money off of it. It's a labor of love. Please don't sue me.

Welcome to Chapter 16 Of Terudom. Like all the others, this chapter is rated T. Apart from some language, this would likely pass muster on an episode of The Following. If you're old enough to watch The Following, you're old enough to read this. But as always, the standard disclaimers apply. It's The Following, so expect dark themes, violence, and general unpleasantness.

And don't try anything you read here at home.

Chapter 16 - One Strauss To Rule Them All

"She needs a doctor," Mike said.

They were standing in the bedroom of Ryan's safe house apartment. Max was lying on the bed, still in her sweat sodden clothes. She had calmed down on the drive from Elizabeth, holding on to Mike, her pupils still dilated from whatever drugs her captors had given her. She had sobbed out a barely coherent account of how they had forced Gwen's location out of her, and Mike had discovered, to his surprise, that it was actually possible to hate someone more than he had hated Mark Grey.

"I know a guy here in the City who used to be a Navy corpsman," Ryan said.

"She needs a lot more than that," Mike replied. "Look, I know you're not going to be big on the idea, but maybe we could get Gwen."

"By now she's being watched by the NYPD, the Bureau, and maybe even the Organization. There's no way to get her here. And even if we could, we can't go dragging a baby into this."

"Maybe Jim could help us move her," Mike said. "I mean, look at her."

"Guys," Max interrupted. "Can I say something?"

"Yeah, sure," Mike replied.

"Don't call Gwen. Just let me sleep. I am so tired. No doctor. Let me sleep, please. I'll be OK. I will."

Mike and Ryan stared at each other. Mike shook his head wordlessly.

"Mike, It'll be OK," she said.

Ryan picked up the first aid kit he had brought from the truck and handed it to Mike. "Here. Clean her hands and put some band aids on those punctures."

"If she's not better in the morning, I'm taking her to a hospital," Mike said.

Ryan nodded his assent. "Mike's gonna take care of you," he said to Max. "I'll be in the other room."

"Thank you," she replied.

Mike took some alcohol wipes from the first aid kit, rubbed them on the wounds in her hands, and then covered the puncture marks with band aids. "You want out of these?" he asked, tugging lightly at the collar of her shirt.

"Yes."

He helped her out of her clothes, leaving her in bra and panties, and turned down the covers on the bed.

"Would you turn out all the lights?" she asked. "Any light at all hurts."

"Sure," he said, and turned out the lamp.

"And hold me."

He undressed, suddenly aware that his pants were damp from the cold rain, and that he was chilled and tired. He had long since come down from the adrenaline rush of combat and the giddy exultation of knowing that he had saved Max. He had her back, but now he was cold, tired, worried sick about her, and feeling frustrated and helpless because he couldn't take her to a hospital. He was also becoming aware that he'd barely slept the night before.

He lay beside her and held her close. She still shuddered occasionally, but whether it was from quiet sobs or muscle spasms from the effects of the drugs he wasn't sure. She grew quiet, and he realized that she had fallen asleep. He listened to the rain beat on the window. He had no idea what to do next or how to get the two of them- no, make that the three of them, home. He wondered about Gwen. Was she even still alive? But there was nothing he could do, at least not for now. He did his best to put nameless terrors out of his mind, and drifted off to sleep.

II

Derek lived on Columbus Avenue, about halfway between the store where Harry met Sally and Central Park. He opened the door to let the two of them in. "Be it ever so humble," he said.

"Nice little man cave you have here," Eliza said. She walked through the living room, taking in the dark leather sectional sofa facing the acre sized TV on the wall and the well stocked bar. She stood in front of the bookshelf, surveying Derek's library, while Derek turned on some music. He went to the kitchen and came back with a bottle of wine from the refrigerator, and a cocktail shaker full of ice. He went to the bar, took down some bottles, and began mixing a couple of drinks.

"Patrick O'Brien," she said, examining the rows of books. "George MacDonald Fraser. Nicholas Monsarrat. Jerome K Jerome. I never would have pegged you for an Anglophile. Rafael Sabatini." She took down his copy of Scaramouche. "He was born with the gift of laughter, and a sense that the world was mad."

"Ok, now I'm impressed"

"What's your favorite Sabatini?"

He thought for a moment. "Master At Arms. The guy was an expert swordsman. The best there was. He goes off to fight in a war. The war is lost, because he was fighting for a pack of incompetents. But there's a happy ending. He lost the war, but he made it home, and he won the heart of the woman he loved. In the end, that was all he ever cared about anyway."

She replaced the volume of Sabatini and continued scanning the shelves. "Lots of military history. Hemingway. The Book of Five Rings. I knew you were a samurai at heart. And...Dan Simmons? You are full of surprises."

'You're nosy," he said, as he stirred the contents of the cocktail shaker. "You gonna go through my DVD collection next?"

"I might. That was one of the best meals I've ever had in my life. Even if it wasn't that steak you promised."

"I got that text from Ali that he had chicken doner kebabs. He can't get those very often. He's Armenian. He's got a connection or something. Some Turkish guy who brings him some of the fixings every now and then. I used to get those when I was in Turkey. You don't see them over here much. At least not the real deal, like those were. And his baklava is the best."

"You must eat there a lot."

"Ali and Katrin are about ready to adopt me."

"What are you making?" she asked.

"An Eliza"

"And what is that?" she asked, walking over to observe.

"A variant on the martini. 007 had the Vesper. If James Bond can name a martini after a woman, then so can I."

"So how do you make it?"

"A measure of barrel rested gin. A measure of regular gin, and use the good stuff. Half measure of Lillet Rouge, and a dash of bitters. Stir over ice, and serve in a chilled glass with a lemon twist. Don't float the lemon twist in the drink, just rub it around the rim of the glass. " he offered her a cocktail glass full of a dark red concoction with a twist hanging off the rim. "Blood red, spicy, complex, and as cold as bitter regret." *

She gave him an impish smile, and took a cautious sip. "I'll have to remember that recipe," she said, nodding.

He took his drink in his right hand, and with his left took her by the hand and led her to the living room couch. They sat, and he took a sip of his drink and set it down on a coaster on the end table.

"You're worried," he said.

"I will have some explaining to do."

"I have a feeling that whoever sold us out has been at it for a while. We'll get 'em. I uh...I got call, a little over a week ago. It was right before Jason was killed. A guy named Jamahl. He was part of my Anbar crew. He's in Dubai these days. All the money in Baghdad has dried up. They can't even pay their own troops, much less contractors. The bastards we left in charge have stolen everything. So Jamahl went looking for greener pastures. He's working for the Gold King now."

"Who's the Gold King?"

"Well, when people think of the Gulf, they think oil, but Dubai hardly has any. A big chunk of their economy is what they call 'precious metals re-export', which is basically a euphemism for gold smuggling. This guy controls the gold smuggling racket from one end of the Gulf to the other, and he's got contacts as far away as India, China, Europe...They hire guys. Security, bodyguards, hitters..."

"Oh my God. You're leaving."

"Only if you come with me."

"Come with you?"

"Yeah. Hear me out. This is gonna go to shit.. I'm amazed it's lasted as long as it has. You've got more and more people trooping through that house. You've got foreign dignitaries coming through there. Political, business, military. Some of these people, the intelligence guys have eyes on 'em. Theirs or ours, it doesn't matter. You've got lobbyists. Political types. It's all getting too big, and it will get out of control, and blow up in our faces. Watch it happen. That fucker Manny. Yeah, I heard about that. And you whacked him, but what about the next time a wrangler cuts corners? What about the next time the wrong person ends up dead in that house?"

"Come with me," he said. "Let's walk away while we still can. We have money, and if we need more, we can be partners. Work as independent contractors. I have contacts. I know guys who would hire us. We could write our own ticket. The ride's going to end. It always does.

As it stands, we're both hostages to the stupidest person who's gone through the House. Someone's going to talk. Someone's going to make a mistake. The FBI's gonna wake up. I know you like being near the centers of power. I know you like being a player. But you have to think about the future. We both do. Maybe working with me, being with me doesn't seem like much after all this, but you'd have a future."

"Even now you can't bring yourself to say it," she said. "You have trouble expressing your feelings. It must be painful for you sometimes."

"OK. I love you. And I want us to be together. Come with me to Dubai."

"Let me ask you something. The Master at Arms, the swordsman who lost his war, but won his love...are you playing that out now? After what happened tonight, do you think this war is lost?"

"I wouldn't know what it's like to win one," he said. "But I've stayed alive by knowing when to get out."

"You're going to win one now. We both are. Together. I won't leave. I want it all. And you're right. I do like being near the centers of power. I like being one of the powers behind the throne. You're talking about a future that's secure. I want a future that's exciting. I want to know that I have what others want, and that I can take what others cherish. I love you, Derek, and I want to be with you. But not in Dubai. Here. If you love me, help me, and you'll find out what it means to be one of the real winners."

" I thought that would be your answer," he said., "and I think it's a mistake". "But you know, the Master at Arms had his doubts when he signed on for that war. He followed his heart against his better judgement." He leaned in and planted a kiss on her lips, his tongue briefly exploring her mouth. "So tonight," he said, "I want to be with the woman I love. And tomorrow, we start winning the war."

III

Dennis Fuchida trudged through the command center, mentally rehearsing the apologies he would make to Chelsea for missing the dinner they had planned. She'd been understanding so far about the Bureau and the demands it could sometimes make. That was a point in her favor, one of many. But he kept half expecting his irregular hours to be a problem. It had been for Amelia, but then she'd been remarkably self centered. That never had a long term future, he reflected, no matter how hot the woman had been.

Jermaine had just left for the day. No, he corrected himself, Jermaine had left for the night. He'd be leaving too, in a few minutes. He noticed Dan Shelby standing in front of a computer monitor, watching some video footage, and his plans for going home were put on hold when Shelby noticed him.

"Fuchida," Shelby said, "I'd like to see you for a few minutes."

He followed Shelby into his office, and Shelby closed the door behind them.

"How long did you work with Hardy?" Shelby asked.

"About six months. She was with Amy Klesko before that."

"In that time, did you ever see anything to make you think that Hardy was upgrading her lifestyle?"

"No sir," Dennis replied. "I never did, and that's the problem."

"Go on"

"Sir, you know the drill as well I as I do. If you're running an agent, then your number one fear is what they do with the money. So you put most of it in a numbered account. But you have to give them some cash up front, and a little mad money every now and then. They always spend it, and you just have to hope that whatever they spend it on doesn't draw attention. Max didn't seem to be spending a lot on herself."

"You know what they'd say about that. You were her partner. Personal feelings cloud clear judgement."

"I know they'd say it. That doesn't make it true."

"Anything else strike you as off about this case?"

"The date that account was opened," said Dennis. "Right after her uncle died."

"Interesting coincidence, that," Shelby replied.

"If it is a coincidence."

"Tell me about tonight," Shelby said.

"NYPD called and said that one of their guys had heard from Max Hardy. His name is Jim Woloszsyn. He worked with Max when she was a detective. Last Sunday Max called him and wanted to meet. She gave him a bag full of diapers and baby formula. She said she was worried about someone coming after her family, and she wanted him to pick up Doctor Gwen Carter and her son and hide them for a couple of days if Max called and gave him the word. She didn't say who she was worried about, but she told him she was afraid that whoever it was had someone inside the Bureau."

"This morning early, she called Wolosyzn, and gave him the word. This was around the time she shook off our surveillance at the gym. Later in the afternoon, we got called because the NYPD found a gun registered to Max in an alley on the Lower East Side, along with two John Does. A homeless guy who was dumpster diving saw a woman matching her description apparently abducted, and put into a van."

"What kind of gun?" Shelby asked.

".38 snub"

"Old gun"

"Old trick," Dennis replied. "Keep it in a pocket, and if someone tries to surprise you, surprise them back. Max learned her street smarts in the NYPD, and a lot of those guys are old school."

"Something else," Dennis continued. "Woloszyn said that last Sunday wasn't the first time he'd heard from Max. Apparently last week, he let her and Mike Weston into Jason Rickard's house. This was around the time the task force took over the Mister Shiny case. Max called me after that, and I told her I wasn't on the case any more."

"You sort of forgot to mention that earlier," Shelby said.

"Yes sir. I'm sorry. I think whatever they were doing there was unauthorized, and it was related to Mister Shiny."

"Keep going"

"Earlier today, Mike Weston disappeared, shortly after leaving Federal Plaza. Our people tailed him as far as Hoboken. He was last seen getting into a stolen Nissan Altima. No idea who was driving it. The Altima was found in a parking deck. The vidcam in the parking deck was disabled. Later, Weston called Gwen Carter. He said Max had been framed, and captured. He warned her that whoever was behind it might learn where she was. He said he had help. He didn't say who. Presumably whoever was driving the Altima."

"Tonight, Mike called Jim Woloszyn, and told him that people were coming for him and Gwen Carter. Woloszyn called NYPD. They sent people out, and they called us. One thing. Woloszyn said he could hear Max in the background. She said she was sorry, and it was her fault. He said she sounded hysterical."

"I was just looking at the footage of that van"

"Yes sir. The license plates were phony. And they changed. We think whoever was driving had detailed knowledge of the location of our cameras, and where the dead ground in the system was. We lost the van over in Jersey."

"Fake license plates?"

"Yes sir."

"What about the John Does?"

"Their papers were fake. Both of them had European dental work. Sterile weapons. The serial numbers on their guns trace overseas."

Shelby shook his head. "I spoke to Galen, who runs the task force. He says Hardy is a mole, and she got double crossed. He thinks they grabbed her to keep her from being debriefed."

"I think she really believed there was a threat to her family," Dennis replied, " and I think someone wanted to grill her to get Doctor Carter's location. Maybe they did."

"Maybe."

"Doctor Carter was involved with Ryan Hardy. That's his kid."

"I know," Shelby said. "So add it up. What do you get?"

"I think Max was framed. I think someone in this building is dirty. I think the opposition, whoever they are, has detailed inside knowledge of our surveillance capabilities. And I think that maybe, just maybe, this all connects back to Ryan Hardy's death."

"If I mention that last part," said Shelby, "They'll say you're chasing ghosts."

"You know what they say sir," said Dennis. "The truth is out there."

"It is, Fuchida. In several senses of that term.. So go find it. Go home. Get some sleep. Be back here early. And I want you to start looking at Galen. Last security clearance, IRS, the usual stuff."

"Yes Sir."

"Be discreet, and be careful. Don't open a file yet, because then it has to go upstairs. This comes to me, and to me only. I'll see you tomorrow."

IV

Max opened her eyes, and found that they could once again focus. The dim gray light filtering through the curtains didn't hurt. The room had stopped spinning while she slept. She waited nervously for the muscle spasms to start back up, and was relieved when they didn't. She took stock of her surroundings, able to really see the room for the first time. She was lying on her left side, facing towards a window covered by heavy drapes. The light that escaped from behind them was dim, as though it was early morning, or overcast. Or was it evening? How long had she been out?

She cautiously turned over on to her back. , becoming aware of Mike lying next to her. She looked over at him to find him awake and looking at her. "What time is it?" she asked.

"A little after nine. You were out a long time. And I think you had a nightmare."

She rested her head on his shoulder and her left arm across his chest, and smiled. "The nightmare is over."

"How are you?"

"Better. I can see now. And the light doesn't hurt. And I'm hungry. I can't remember the last time I ate."

"I'll go see if there's anything to eat," he said. He got up, fumbled for his jeans. Max found that she instantly missed the warmth of his body against hers, and that the room seemed chill. She wondered if she were running a fever.

Mike opened the bedroom door, and when he did, she smelled bacon frying. And coffee. Her stomach began growling. She sat up, and began looking for something to put on. She had nothing but the clothes she had worn yesterday. She stood up, and found that it took a remarkable amount of effort. She stood for a moment, with her legs against the edge of the mattress, using the bed for support. She could see her flannel shirt hanging from the closet doorknob, where Mike had left it when had helped her undress. She started to move to get it, but lost her balance. She didn't fall, but she took a couple of stumbling steps forward and grabbed onto the chest of drawers for support. Mike was instantly there, his arm around her, holding her up.

"Are you OK?" he asked.

"Yeah, I just need something to wear."

"Here, sit back down. I'll get your clothes. Just take it easy."

She sat down on the mattress, and he handed her the jeans and flannel shirt she had discarded last night. They felt nasty against her skin, but it was all she had. She put her socks on, and stood back up. When Mike offered to help, she held up her hand in refusal. "I can make it out there," she said.

In fact, the distance from the bed to the living room was a lot longer than she remembered it being the night before. Three city blocks at least. With Mike keeping a close watch on her progress, she made it out of the bedroom. Ahead she could see Ryan in the tiny kitchen, spatula in hand, tending to a pan full of eggs. He turned and smiled, but his eyes betrayed his worry. I must look like absolute hell, she thought.

"Welcome back," he said. "I made an early morning run to the store. I thought I better get some food."

She found the energy to take a detour to where Ryan was standing so that she could give him a hug. "Thank you ," she said. "Thank you both. I was never so glad to see you guys in my life."

" Same here," Ryan replied. "You better sit down."

Mike ushered her to the small round table in the dining room. She sat, and discovered that after the effort of crossing a couple of small rooms she wanted to stop and rest. Ryan placed a mug of coffee in front of her, and a small pitcher of half and half. There was a jar of sugar on the table, and a jar of marmalade. She added sugar and half and half to her coffee until she could leave a thumb print on its surface, and took an appreciative sip. It was the best coffee she had ever tasted in her life.

"How are you feeling?" Ryan asked.

"A lot better. I'm sorry for last night. I kinda lost it."

"You have nothing to be sorry for," Mike assured her. "I don't know how you held it together as well as you did."

"Is Gwen OK?" she asked.

"I'm sure she is," Ryan replied. "We know they sent guys out there, because we could hear it on my police scanner. Mike will call her later today."

"I want to call her," Max said.

"We'll need to make that call from somewhere else," said Ryan, "and you're staying here. You need to rest." He placed a plate in front of her containing eggs, bacon, and an English muffin. He placed a second plate in front of Mike, then went to the refrigerator, returning with a bottle of orange juice and a plate for himself. "You both need to make lists," he said. You need stuff. Starting with extra clothes."

"Can you get me a laptop?" she asked. "I want to get busy on that flash drive."

"You sure you're up to it?" Mike asked.

"Definitely," Max replied, spreading marmalade on her English muffin. She took a big bite of it. "Oh my God," she said, with her mouth full. "That's wonderful." She turned to Mike. "Remember what you told me? You said sometimes the only thing that matters is how hard a punch you can take. Well, I just took the hardest punch I've ever taken in my life, and I'm still standing. And we're finally back together again, like we're supposed to be. So today is the day we start punching back."

V

Derek awoke to find Eliza staring up at the ceiling.

"Morning," he said. "Dreading the day?"

"No," she replied. "I'm just sorry the night had to end."

"Yeah, me too." He watched as a smile spread across her face. "What?" he asked.

"Half god, half beast, the Princess Valeria described him, not suspecting that her statement described not just Bellarion's condition, but man's"

He burst out laughing. "Bellarion The Fortunate. OK, you're right. I have been underestimating

you. That stops, as of now."

She turned onto her side, and ran her finger along the line of stitches she had used to close his wound. "Looks like this stayed clean."

"You do good work, doctor. If you want breakfast, your choices here are pretty limited. There hasn't been much time to shop. I have coffee, but I'm pretty much down to peanut butter, crackers, and frozen pizza."

"I know a place where we can go for breakfast. But some coffee would be nice first." She got out of bed, and put on one of Derek's T shirts that was draped across a chair. It said THE VOICES IN MY HEAD DON'T LIKE YOU. "I like this," she said. "It's you."

He got up and retrieved his boxers from the floor. "I'll get that coffee going," he said, and headed for the kitchen. He filled a kettle with water, put it on to boil, and took a bag of beans out of the freezer. He was just putting some into the grinder when Eliza came in, phone in hand.

"I just checked my messages," she said. "I have to go."

"What's happened?" he asked.

"The Chairman left a text. I have a conference call later. Time to face the music."

"You want me there? I'll tell 'em that..."

"No," she interrupted. "I have to do this alone. Do me a favor. Drop by Fairfax this morning. I have a crew coming out. Check in and see that they're getting things taken care of before you start molehunting."

"Ok. I'll need a terminal. Can I set up shop someplace in your office suite downtown?"

"Sure."

"Can I bring my rat?"

"Yes, you can bring the damn rat. Can I use your shower?"

"Sure. What some company?"

She wrapped her arms around his neck, and gave him a kiss. "I'd like that."

V

"I'm going to get this stuff," Ryan said. He held two pieces of paper, each of them a list Mike and Max had given him. "You stay here and keep an eye on her."

"I feel bad about you having do all of this," Mike said. "Can you afford this?"

"Anyone who says crime doesn't pay isn't doing it right," Ryan replied. "It's all stolen money anyway."

"Yeah, but you worked so hard stealing it."

They were standing in the combination living and dining room. Max was taking a shower. Breakfast had brought some color back to her cheeks and she was in much better spirits, but neither Mike nor Ryan wanted to leave her alone.

"It's good being versatile," Ryan said. "It helps when you have to change careers. Like I said, it pays way better then the Bureau. I can afford to take care of you two for a while. At least until we figure something out."

"She says she feels better," Mike said.

"I've heard that one before. The last time I heard it, her ribs were glass, she got within arms length of Theo, and I had to scramble backup. We both know she'll try to do more than she should before she's ready. You stay here and make sure she doesn't. I'll go give the credit cards a workout."

"We haven't called Gwen," Mike said.

"I know," Ryan said. "But we can't go near her now, and I have a feeling they won't either. The last thing they want is to call attention to themselves. We've hit them hard, and by now the Bureau knows that someone serious took an interest in her. I think they'll back off Gwen, at least until they think they've plugged their security problem. Right now my main concern is Max. You have to stay with her."

"I will,' Mike said. "And thank you. For everything."

"Don't mention it. I'll be back soon."

Ryan left, and Mike walked to the bathroom door, and opened it a crack. Steam came wafting out. "You OK?" he asked.

"I'm fine," Max said, over the sound of running water. "Just a few more minutes, and you can have a turn."

Mike sat on the bed, waiting for Max to finish her shower. She came out minutes later, wrapped in a towel, another towel wrapped around her damp hair. "All yours," she said. "I threw my clothes into the wash. I can't put those back on like they are. I must have sweated a gallon into them." He made no move to use the shower. "Your turn,", she said.

"I was sitting here waiting for you to get out."

"I'm not going to fall or anything. I'm a lot better now."

"You nearly fell earlier."

"I'm better now. You'd be amazed what food, sleep, and a little hope can do. Is Gwen OK?"

"Ryan thinks they'll leave her alone, at least for a while. The cops and the Bureau know something's up. They won't risk a move right now."

"But you haven't called her?"

"Ryan thinks we need to stay below the radar right now, and I agree. We can't get to her. Jim's got her, I'm sure. If you trusted him, then so do I. If we contact her, we might put her in more risk than she's in now."

"You're not keeping anything from me?" she asked. "If something was wrong, you'd tell me, right?"

"Of course I'd tell you. Why wouldn't I?"

"Because I told them where she was."

"You didn't tell them where she was. They took that from you, with their drugs and devices. No one blames you, and no one ever will. Don't ever blame yourself. You did the best you could, and no one could have done more. If it hadn't been for you, they would have gotten Gwen already. And Ryan Junior. If it hadn't been for you, we would never have found Ryan. You didn't fail. You gave all of us a chance to fight back."

"I put Jim in danger."

"Jim knew you were worried about some very dangerous people. It was his choice. That's just something Eliza said to get to you."

She hung her head. "Well, she kinda got to me."

"I know. She knows how to do that. She's an expert at hurting people. And that's why I'm worried. I can't imagine what it was like for you. You look a lot better this morning, but I'm afraid that all this is going to hit you at some point. Maybe at three in the morning, maybe next week, maybe next month. I want you to promise me that as soon as possible, you're going to see a doctor. You're going to talk to someone. Just as soon as this is over."

" I will," she nodded. "But will it ever be over? Will we ever get home?"

"Yes. We're going to make it home. All three of us. I love you, and I am not keeping anything from you, and I never will."

"And I'll never keep anything from you again." She rested her head on his shoulder, and he put his arm around her. "I think they were going to take my mind."

"You're safe now, and we're back together. Lie down for a while. I'll bring you your things when they're dry. Ryan's coming back with new clothes and a computer, and when you're ready, you can get back in the fight."

VI

Eliza sat in her office, staring at her phone on the desk as though it were a venomous snake coiled to strike. She had been dreading this moment since last night. The Chairman had told her that her plan to deal with Ryan hardy had to show positive results. So far, all it shown was six of her operators** dead, along with her interrogation specialist, and a major Organization facility compromised and abandoned. Sarah would be moving against her now, and she was looking at a fight for survival.

She thought of Derek's offer of a partnership in Dubai. She was sure that the two of them could stay ahead of the Organization, and probably deal with any hit team that did manage to catchup with them. Life with Derek would have its good points, she thought, remembering the night before. But it would mean admitting failure. It would allow Sarah to claim that she had been right all along. It would mean giving up on vengeance against Ryan Hardy and his people. Any unavenged insult would diminish her and make her less than she was. Besides, she simply wanted more from life than Derek did.

Her phone buzzed, and she saw the Chairman's name appear on the screen. She reached for the phone, and resolved that she would survive this challenge, just had she had survived all the others.

"Good morning sir," she said.

"Good morning, Eliza. I've seen the report on Fairfax. I'm disappointed, and very concerned.'

"We were sold out , sir. My plan was sound, but we have a traitor. I'm very sorry for what happened, but I simply couldn't anticipate this. Mister Hands believes whoever it is has been working against us for some time, and he'll be working closely with me to hunt this person down. Whoever it is will pay for what they've done."

"I'm sure they will," the Chairman replied. "But for the moment, my main concern is for you. I haven't informed the full Committee yet, but that can't be delayed for long. No more than a day. Once they're told of this, you know what Sarah and others will say. That it was your responsibility to detect or prevent this sort of treachery in the first place. You're a fellow student Eliza. That's a bond we'll always have. But when word of this gets out, even I may not be able to protect you. "

"Sir, I don't know what else I could have done. Even with the best plans, there are contingencies."

"Understood. But failure is failure and it will have consequences. I can delay reporting to the Committee for a day, maybe a day and a half, but no more. As you know, there's an event at the House this weekend, and there will be a scheduled meeting to hear your progress report. Let us hope by then there will be progress. If you can locate and identify the traitor, it may improve our prospects. But we must have something positive to report."

"Sir, what if we snatched Gwen Carter? We might be able to use her to get to Ryan."

"I can't sanction that right now," he said. "Gwen Carter is now the focus of attention by the FBI and the NYPD. Any direct move against her would be a virtual declaration of our existence. Focus on finding the mole. If you succeed at that, we'll have something to soften the blow when we report to the full Committee."

"Yes sir. And thank you. I appreciate being given a chance."

"There is another matter. This morning, I was informed that an FBI agent named Dennis Fuchida has begun making inquiries regarding Miles Galen. Mister Galen's clumsiness in handling the Max Hardy affair may be catching up with him. Offhand, I don't know what, if anything, there is for Fuchida to find. Mister Galen has been well paid for his services, but if he has been indiscreet with his spending, then he may become an embarrassment. Please deal with this immediately. You are authorized to use any means necessary."

"Understood, sir."

"Good luck, Eliza."

"Thank you sir."

She disconnected, and sat considering her options. There was no way of knowing whether Dennis Fuchida was acting on Bureau orders or on his own. He'd worked with Max Hardy. Maybe he was simply looking for a way to help his former partner. If so, his death would be enough to end the investigation. If he was acting on someone's orders, then killing him might call attention what he had been investigating.

She decided on a course of action, and picked up the phone.

VII

Derek pulled his Acura into the garage at Fairfax to find the sweep team Eliza had sent in hard at work. A small freight truck was parked in the garage. Tanke and another man were carrying a body bag, which they loaded into the back of the truck. The bodies were destined for plastic barrels which would be filled with acid.

"Hey there," Derek said to Tanke. "Let me see you for a second."

"I'll be right back," said Tanke to the other man. He and Derek walked to a corner of the garage out of immediate earshot of anyone loading the truck.

"Glad to see you made it," Derek said. "You should have a T shirt made. 'I survived the Hardy invasion.'".

"Yeah, right. And the lucky survivors get to load all this shit up. What do you want me to do with that target access safe?"

"Put it in a van, and take it to the Boss Lady's office downtown. We may need the stuff in it. Don't use that Explorer, it has to be repainted first. Trash the computers. Use a magnet to wipe the hard drives. Make sure you get all that blood cleaned up."

" The blood's already taken care of. I notice that Stinnes and Kaminsky aren't here to help with the heavy lifting."

"They're too busy doing whatever it is they do," Derek said. "You know, in all the time I've known them, I don't think I've heard Stinnes speak two dozen words. I'm starting to think of them as the Jay and Silent Bob of evil."

Tanke laughed out loud. "It looks like you've got everything under control here," said Derek. "Can you manage without me?"

" We'll get it done.."

"Good. I need to work on something for Eliza."

"Eliza again," Tanke said, grinning.

"Don't start."

"I mean, like...you? And her? Dude."

Derek glared at him. "You have a big mouth, and if it goes around talking about this..." He watched for a moment as another body bag was put into the truck. "She said I was a samurai at heart," Derek said.

"Kewl," Tanke replied.

"It depends, I guess, on your point of view. The fate of the samurai, if you know how those stories mostly end, was to be betrayed by a faithless Lord." He stared at the truck for moment, lost in thought. "Look, I gotta TCB. Keep an eye on things, make sure this stuff gets loaded. Call me if you need anything. I'll see you later."

Derek got in his car, and gunned the engine, leaving the garage to accompaniment of burning rubber. _We have a mole inside the Organization, someone who is selling all of us out, someone responsible for the deaths of a whole bunch of our people, and she wants me here watching them load trucks. She lied her ass off about the Max Hardy file, and she's stalling now. Time to get some goddam answers._

VIII

Dennis knocked on Dan Shelby's office door, which was standing open. Shelby was sitting at his desk polishing his glasses with a piece of soft cloth. A small spray bottle of lens cleaner was sitting nearby. "Come in," he said

Dennis entered, and closed the door behind him. "So I start looking at Galen."

"And?"

"Two years ago he took a trip to Vegas. Vaycay. He did some gambling, and won big at roulette."

"How big?"

"He reported $54,000 in gambling winnings on his taxes. And he's gone back every year since."

"The man got lucky, and he's trying to repeat it."

"Or he reports gambling winnings as a way to disguise income from another source, and he goes back every year to establish a pattern."

"That's an old dodge," Shelby said. "Did CI*** flag it?"

"He was never asked about it when they did his last clearance. It just went right through."

"Anything else?"

"He reported several overseas trips on his last clearance. One was work related. He went to Brussels for a conference. The rest were vacation. . Expensive, too. A couple of dive trips to the Caribbean. A trip to Mexico. One to Italy.

"Expensive enough to get flagged?" Shelby asked.

"You'd think, but no. I've got a bad feeling. You want him brought in?"

Shelby shook his head. "Not yet. We don't have authorization. I have to go upstairs before beginning a formal investigation. Keep digging. Let me make some phone calls."

"Sir, I think we need to talk to this guy."

"So do I, Fuchida. But when we talk to him, we better have something solid, or he'll lawyer up, and someone upstairs will order us to drop the case. The last thing we want to do is warn him and whoever he's working for. For the record, I'm worried sick about Hardy and Weston.**** Until someone proves otherwise, they're still our people, and they deserve the benefit of the doubt. The best way to help them is to find out who the real mole is. Keep at it. I need more than this."

'Yes Sir"

IX

Mike sat on the couch watching a hockey game while Max, half dozing, rested her head on his shoulder. Her clothes were dry. Her color had come back, and she no longer seemed unsteady on her feet. Mike had felt confident enough of her recovery to take a badly needed shower while she napped. He still didn't have a clue about how to get them home, but after the frantic day he'd had yesterday, just sitting here with his arm around her was a vast improvement.

Someone knocked four times on the door, and then, after a pause, knocked once more. Ryan. Max instantly came awake and sat up. The key turned in the lock, and Ryan entered carrying several bags.

"It's Christmas," he said. "It's either a little late or way early."

Max bounded off the couch, and took a bag from Ryan's hand. She looked inside, and broke into a smile when she saw the contents. "Thank you," she said. "Excuse me while I change. I am going to throw these things away."

"Need help?" Mike asked Ryan.

'Yeah there's more to carry in. I got a computer, too." He put the rest of the bags down and went out the door.

"Great," said Max. "I can take a shot at that flash drive."

"Don't you need special software?" Mike asked, reaching into the closet for his coat.

"I'll download some hacker tools," she replied. "It's what I've mostly used going back to when I was in the Intel Division. The good stuff is open source. Or it's Dark Side." To Mike's surprised look, she said "How do you think I got my rep anyway?"

"Well you always wanted to do things the right way. I guess I never thought of you as the black hat type."

She flashed him a wicked smile. "I'm not as good as you think I am."

He stopped in the middle of putting his coat on and stared for a moment. "Yeah," he grinned, "I'm starting to notice."

X

Derek walked into his apartment, found his laptop, and began booting it up. He could use a computer in the ZR offices downtown, but if he did that, everything he did would be logged. He wanted some privacy for this. Let Eliza think he was wasting time at Fairfax. He couldn't call on the full range of the Organization's investigative resources from here, but maybe he could find a few things out from the internet without Eliza being any the wiser.

It all got back to that inventory he'd never mentioned to Eliza. He'd killed three men in North Carolina. Two of them had phones on them. But the one who'd crawled off to that mill and bled out there wasn't carrying a phone. So why had he gone to that mill? He was hurt badly, and needed medical help. The answer was almost certainly that he had a phone when Derek put that 9 millimeter slug into him. He had gone to that mill hoping Derek wouldn't follow him, and that whoever he had called for help would pick him up. It was possible that whoever he called was someone in North Carolina. Someone close by, and either they had refused to come help him or they hadn't made it in time. But it was also possible that whoever he had called was the mole inside the Organization. So why hadn't his phone been found on him?

Because Mike Weston and Max Hardy found Wayne Jarrett first, souvenired his phone, and never reported it to the FBI. And that phone had led them to whoever Jarrett had called. So his search for the mole, which had been delayed by Eliza's kidnap operation yesterday, would have to begin with the people killed in North Carolina.

 _Who were these assholes, anyway?_

XI

Mike and Ryan were sitting at the dining room table having sandwiches for lunch when they heard a whoop of joy from the bedroom. "YES!" came Max's voice.

"Sounds like something good just happened," Ryan said, as he rose to go see what it was.

They found Max sitting cross legged in the middle of the bed. She had traded in her flannel shirt for a cream colored sweatshirt and a new pair of jeans. The laptop was in front of her, with the stolen flash drive plugged into a USB port on the side. She was grinning from ear to ear.

"I suppose you're wondering why I called us all together," she said, and then laughed. "I'm sorry," she added. "I just couldn't resist saying that. "

"If she can do cornball humor," Ryan observed, "she's getting a lot better."

"I think so," Mike said.

"I broke the encryption," she said.

"That didn't take long," Ryan replied.

"I"m good," she said proudly. "Now keep in mind, as I walk you through this, that what I'm about to show you was supposed to incriminate Eliza in the eyes of the Organization."

She touched a key, and then turned the laptop so that Mike and Ryan could see the screen.

"You're looking at emails, sent by Jason Rickard to some employees at a subcontractor that RCS brought in to help them with personnel management software that they were writing for the government. The subcontractor was an outfit called Manatech."

"That's a familiar name," Ryan said.

"Here's another one," Max replied. "Look at the CC list. One of the people on it was named Sam Lewis."

"Theo worked on it?" Mike asked.

"Yeah," said Max. "Now there's nothing here that suggests anything illegal. This is all perfectly above board, except that we all know now who Sam Lewis really was."

"Now Coleman told me that the Organization has a worm program inside the government's personnel management database. My guess is that RCS subcontracted to Manatech so that Theo could put a back door into the program they were writing to make it easier to plant the worm later, and he also wrote the worm program itself. It was called Opticon Scintil."

"So why would this incriminate Eliza?" Ryan asked.

"Because apparently her contacts with Theo were unknown to the Organization, and not authorized. Opticon Scintil was useful, but using Theo to write it could have exposed the Organization if Theo was ever caught."

"That would have been a risk with any black hat hacker," Mike observed.

"Not every black hat hacker is a serial killer," Max said. " The point is, Eliza didn't contact Theo directly, but she knew who he was early on. She used Jason Rickard at RCS to make contact with Theo. She had somehow accessed Strauss' records, which is how she knew about Theo in the first place. She used Rickard so that she could keep a low profile. That was the first time she had contact with Theo, but it wasn't the last."

She touched a few keys and the screen changed to show what looked like a personnel file with a man's picture.

"This is Daniel Carr," she said. "He was a lobbyist. This is apparently some sort of personnel file, and it's got a lot of personal information about him. Finances, associates, job history, and so forth. What you're looking at, I think, is a file the Organization kept on this guy. They did an extensive background check on him. Note this thing here. It says 'Reference Code'. It's like a file number or something." She moved the mouse pointer to the number, AE/277. "Now here is a report on the death of Daniel Carr, who was found in the woods near MacLean, Virginia, dead, along with a woman named Lyndsey Friedenberg. Someone had taken their clothes before they were killed. Note that the estimated time of death was in the evening, and it was ten months ago, just before you and Theo quote unquote died."

She clicked again, and the screen changed to a list of what looked like reference numbers similar to Daniel Carr's. Each took the form of two letters, a slash, and a three digit number. There were two other columns, labeled time in and time out.

"This," she said, "is some kind of log that shows people with reference numbers like Daniel Carr's. No names, just numbers. In fact, right here, you can see that AE/277 was logged into wherever or whatever along with AE/277/G, which I guess would be Ms Freidenberg. But note the time. The range of estimated time of death for these two starts before they logged in to whatever."

"The house," Ryan said. "They have a house in MacLean, Virginia. They have their parties there. I told you about that. They use a bracelet with a bar code to control access."

"So someone killed Daniel and Lyndsey, and took their bracelets, and their clothes, and entered the house posing as them," Max said

"Theo and Penney?" Mike asked.

"I think so," she replied. "Because look at this."

She clicked again, and the screen changed to show the photos, rather like passport photos, of several men

"What you're looking at," she said, "are personnel files on some of Eliza's hoods who all apparently disappeared or demised shortly before you disappeared. Some in Virginia, some in New York. That one..." she said, pointing, "I recognize. I killed him. In the woods that day. He was drawing a bead on you, Ryan. You told me worked for Theo."

"So who killed all the others?" Mike asked. "Theo?"

"It had to be," Ryan said. "And Marloth, when he collected these, was out to prove that Eliza had some sort of unauthorized contacts with Theo, and that Theo got into the house, and Eliza never reported it. But I thought that Theo and Eliza had some sort of a deal."

"They did," said Max. "But the Organization never knew about it. Maybe she just finds you fascinating. I mean, why not? Kidnaping me shows that maybe she doesn't have the best impulse control. She is a serial killer after all. It's easy to forget that. But the point is that yes, she was dealing with Theo behind the Organization's back, and she needed to cover that up. Which is why she had Jason Rickard killed."

"Whoa," Mike interjected. "What makes you say that?"

"Coleman told me that Eliza lost a man in Beaumont a couple of weeks before Rickard's murder. The computer in Portland that sent us the message about where to find his body was hacked from public access wifi in Beaumont. She sent a guy there to hack a computer, from a place where Theo was known to be operating, so that it would look like Theo or Coleman's followers had killed him. She used the same MO as Coleman's followers. But her man in Beaumont didn't make it out alive."

Mike and Ryan exchanged looks that said they might be dealing with a madwoman. Ryan spoke first. "In the first place," he said, "how could she know where Theo was, and how could she know about Coleman's MO?"

"That," Max said, "is the most interesting part. There's one file left on here that I need to show you." She clicked again, and the screen changed to a picture of a woman. Mike and Ryan stared in amazement.

"It's you," Mike said.

"That was taken right after I got back from Quantico," she said. There's a whole file on me. My daily schedule. The code to my alarm. It's nearly a year old. When this was done, you were overseas, and I was still with Tom."

"OK," Mike said. "I am now completely lost."

"That makes two of us," Ryan added.

Max put the laptop to sleep, and stood. "I have a theory," she said. "It's pretty weird. Before I get into it, I want to ask a question. Let's say the Bureau wanted to maintain 24/7 surveillance on a target who had surveillance training herself? A cop, or an FBI agent? How many agents would we use for a job like that?"

"Twenty," Ryan said. "Maybe twenty-five." *****

"Coleman told me that Theo broke into Julianna's office after she was killed and got a coded book,"said Max. "Theo managed to break the code. The book led him to Eliza. It also contained a master list of all of Strauss' students, and that's what led Theo to Coleman."

"But Strauss would never write all that down in one place," Mike said. "He kept everything compartmented."

"That's what I thought," Max replied. "It's what we all thought. I asked myself why would Strauss write all that down in one place. And the answer is that he wrote that list so that Julianna could sell it to Eliza. Think about it. Strauss went to his former students for help. To Kyle. To Daisy. To Theo. But who did the surveillance on me? Either Strauss contacted twenty to twenty-five former students who just happened to all be trained in surveillance, or he contacted one student who could assign twenty to twenty five people to do that job. Strauss traded a list of all of his students to Eliza in exchange for her help with his master plan for torpedoing the government's case against him."

"I'm just guessing here," she continued, "but I'd say that Julianna took a copy of the coded book to Eliza along with a sample of decoded material. She'd help him out, and in exchange, she'd get a decryption key."

"So why did Julianna keep the book, or a copy of the book lying around?" Mike asked.

"Leverage," Ryan said. "If it all went south, she'd have something to trade to the US Attorney."

"So let me get back to my theory," Max said. "Eliza accessed Strauss's records, and learned of Theo's existence. She later had Jason Rickard approach him to help write spyware for the Organization. Some time after that, we capture Strauss. Strauss, through Julianna, trades a master list of his students to Eliza in exchange for her help, so that Kyle and Daisy can plant those cameras..."

"Cameras?" Ryan asked.

"Long story," she said. "The point is that Theo and Eliza both end up with copies of that master list. But Theo does not know about Eliza's copy."

"Did she know about his?" Ryan asked.

"Julianna's death was reported in the news," Max replied. "And since Eliza knows what the Bureau knows, she knew about the killing in Julianna's office. So yes, she knew about Theo's copy. So Theo decides to recruit one of Strauss' students, Zack Coleman, to infiltrate the Organization. He applies for a job with ZR, and Eliza spots him right away as working for Theo."

"No way," Mike said. "She couldn't know that. She didn't even know Theo was alive."

"She would suspect it the moment a Strauss student applied for a job in her IT department on a phony resume," said Max.

"But Coleman gave us the information that made it possible to rescue you!" Mike exclaimed.

"Don't you get it?" she asked. "She never knew we were in contact with Coleman. What the Bureau knows, Eliza knows, but the Bureau never knew about Wayne Jarrett's phone that led us to Coleman because we never turned it in."

"Eliza knew about Coleman's MO because there must have been information about him in that book," she continued. "And she knew Theo's location because he's been hacking into her computers, and she's been able to trace the hack.."

'But if she knew Theo's location, why not send a team to take him out?" Ryan asked.

"Because," Max replied, " once the Organization smelled a rat, she didn't just have to kill Theo. She had to cover up her links to Theo. So she killed Rickard, and used Theo as a fall guy."

"Then she hacked RCS, too," Mike said.

"Mister Shiny had been used on other Organization front companies. Shiny gets into pretty much every piece of hardware in a network. Printers, routers, whatever, and if you don't clean everything completely out, then the whole network gets reinfected. So they had samples of the Shiny worm from the earlier attacks. Someone working for Eliza carried the worm into RCS on an infected memory stick. But let's get back to that list she bought from Strauss. What could she do with it? For Strauss, creating serial killers was a hobby. Like golf, or stamp collecting. But Eliza is all about power. What could she do with that list?"

"She could weaponize it," Ryan said.

"Right," Max replied. "Look at all the trouble we had with Kyle and Daisy. Strauss didn't just create serial killers. He trained potential assassins. What could she do with a dozen Kyles? A dozen Daisys. It would make Al Qaeda look like a pack of Cub Scouts. She may have done it already. She has that list that allows her to find, and maybe use these people as a kind of ultimate weapon. One Strauss to rule them all. One Strauss to find them."

"But that means she's allowing Theo to hack their computers," Mike said. "That's a huge risk."

" I think she allowed it for a couple of reasons," said Max. " Theo already had her and the Chairman talking shop, and he never used it to expose her. So letting him hack their computers wasn't really putting her in that much more danger. Hacking their computers was a way for Theo make enough money to get out of the country and get himself a new identity somewhere else. But look at it another way. Eliza would never be safe as long as Theo is alive. She would have to kill him, but he's a hard target. Letting him hack their computers gave her a way to trace the hacks and maybe eventually find him. And maybe she's just waiting for him to make a move. Maybe she's setting some kind of a trap. And I think he will make a move soon. He's probably got enough money together by now to go wherever, so he's ready to take his revenge and kill her. Maybe he's planning to go back in that house and do it there."

"So what do we do?" Ryan asked.

"We find Theo," Max replied. "He's the key. By now, Theo and his computer have become an evidence bomb that could sink the whole Organization."

"But how do we find Theo?" asked Ryan.

"The same way she did," said Max. "Every time he connects, he's leaving a trace. We have to look at Eliza's computers and see where Theo is hacking from."

"But that would require physical access to Eliza's computers," Mike said. "And she knows you on sight."

"I'm just going to walk right in there," she replied.

Mike looked at Ryan and shook his head incredulously. "I think they did something permanent to your brain after all."

"My brain is tip top," Max said with a smile. "And it's got a plan. When the going gets tough, the tough go blonde."

Musical Interlude - Treacherous Thing by Ego Likeness

From Derek's Apartment - Evil Night Together by Jill Tracy

*For those who aren't familiar, barrel rested gin is gin that has been aged in a barrel, like whiskey. But where whiskey may be aged for years, barrel rested gin is generally aged for a couple of months. Gin is normally clear, but when barrel rested, takes on a light brown color, like whiskey. It also has a spicy, whiskey like bite to it. Lillet (Pronounced lih-LAY), as I explained in a previous chapter, is a French wine. Lillet Blanc is the white variety, Lillet Rouge the red. Lillet Blanc was once known as Kina Lillet, and was an ingredient in the famous James Bond martini. Lillet Rouge is dark red and made from a blend of Merlot and Cabernet Sauvignon wines, plus liqueurs made from orange peels, spices and cinchona bark. (The source of quinine). Angostura bitters are a botanically infused alcoholic mixture distilled in Trinidad and Tobago. They are dark red, come in a small bottle designed to measure out a drop at a time, and give drinks a bitter flavor.

** Secret agents or what have you are often referred to in Hollywood productions, novels, etc, as operatives. In real life, the term operator is in much more common use in the military and among private military contractors. (Like Eliza) Operators conduct operations. Operator is a noun, operative is an adjective. Men (And yes women, because women are involved in real life) who engage in special operations are sometimes called special operators. Eliza calls the people who work for her operators because she runs a PMC, and that's the term used by people in that particular line of work.

*** Counterintelligence

**** The various laws and rules that govern how the FBI handles an actual molehunt are actually more complex than those that govern an ordinary criminal investigation, and would take longer to explain than I have here. It's not just a question of getting a warrant. There are certain limits on what the FBI can do when hunting spies, moles, or what have you, and Shelby's caution is rooted in that.

Most countries have an agency that handles counterespionage, and another that handles law enforcement, organized crime, etc, but in America, the FBI does both. In Britain, for example, MI5 serves as a kind of internal domestic intelligence service, something that even most democracies, have. America has never formally created a domestic spy agency, though the FBI and CIA have both from time to time gone outside the rules.

***** This figure may seem excessive but it was taken from an article by a former NSA counterintelligence officer in which he discussed the number of people needed to conduct discreet surveillance of terrorists.

Rafael Sabatini

Rafael Sabatini (1875-1950) was the son of an Italian father and an English mother. He wrote in English, and was famous for his historical fiction, which was carefully researched. Several of his books have been turned into movies. The most famous of these, Captain Blood, is arguably the greatest pirate story of them all. His best known books are probably Captain Blood, Scaramouche, and The Sea Hawk. These can be found easily enough. Others go in and out of print. Actually, my favorite of his pirate stories is The Black Swan. They made a movie of it, but used only the title and none of the plot.

Scaramouche is set during the French Revolution and is about a man who becomes a fencing master. Bellarion the Fortunate is about a young man who rises to become a successful soldier of fortune in fifteenth century Italy. The lines Eliza quotes are the opening lines of both books. .

There is a movie called The Sea Hawk, but it has nothing to do with the Sabatini novel of the same name, which Hollywood has sadly ignored

The Gold King

Derek's description of The Gold King is based on some details taken from Overworld: Memoirs

Of A Reluctant Spy by Larry Kolb. Kolb wrote his book to pay his legal bills after he got in serious trouble while working as an errand boy for a dodgy Saudi businessman. He may or may not have been a real spy, he doesn't seem to have been particularly reluctant about his lawbreaking, and I suspect the book contains some tall tales. But Kolb spent quite a bit of time in the Middle East, met some real movers and shakers, and his book is a fascinating travelogue.

The Max Hardy File

Raymond Chandler once said that the solution, when presented, must seem inevitable. This is not the end of Terudom, but one of its mysteries has finally been revealed. When the idea occurred to me that Eliza was behind the surveillance on Max in exchange for a master list of Strauss' students, it seemed so obviously correct that I honestly wondered if the showrunners had been planning to use it down the road. On sober reflection, I don't think they were, but it seemed like a reasonable solution to one of the mysteries of S3. Whether my solution seems correct, or even perhaps inevitable, is for the reader to decide.

27


	17. Chapter 17 -A Moment Of Clarity

Disclaimer: It's fanfic, meaning I don't own anything or make any money off of it. It's a labor of love. Please don't sue me.

Hi gang. Welcome to Chapter 17 Of Terudom. Like all the others, this chapter is rated T. Apart from some language, this would likely pass muster on an episode of The Following. If you're old enough to watch The Following, you're old enough to read this. But as always, the standard disclaimers apply. It's The Following, so expect dark themes, violence, and general unpleasantness.

And don't try anything you read here at home.

Hi gang. Absolute Elsewhere here. Sorry for the long time between updates. I suffered an injury that left me in constant pain every waking minute and made sitting in front of the computer a torture. Getting healthy took priority over writing. I'm a lot better now.

Chapter 17- A Moment Of Clarity

"They tell me you once skinned a man alive."

The pale afternoon light came through the thin curtains, showing the chunky, brown haired man sitting on the couch with an energy drink in his hand. His short hair was tousled and dirty, and his plaid shirt was rumpled, as if he'd slept in it. His moustache had crumbs of something caught in it, perhaps chips from the empty bag that sat on the coffee table. The TV on the stand across the room was showing a war movie with the sound turned down. On the screen, helicopters were disgorging troops onto a jungle landing zone.

"That wasn't me," the man replied. "That was Rick, back when we used to team up."

"That's right," Eliza said. "Now I remember. Rick was killed, wasn't he?" She knew all the details of Rick's death, of course. But she wanted him to talk about himself.

The man took a swing of his drink. "Yeah. That barista with the nice ass. And the nine."

Eliza shook her head sadly. "Rick should have been more careful. But I guess it's good for you that he died. If he'd been taken alive, he could have implicated you. Which means it's also good for me. What did you ever see in Rick anyway?"

"We had shit in common," the man said, as if that explained everything.

"You had similar tastes in victims, at least." Eliza leaned forward in her chair. She was aware that she was sitting in a discounted floor model from a showroom. The whole thing was a bit loose, and she didn't want to lean back and put too much weight on it. The legs were uneven, and by shifting her weight, she could make the whole rickety affair flex slightly one way or the other. Clearly her host didn't believe in spending much on furniture. She gave him enough money to live decently, but much of it went for some combination of strippers, hookers, and internet porn. He had sex, Eliza knew, with a lot of hookers, sometimes while they were still alive.

"Rick went after that barista on his own," the man explained. " He went to that coffee shop a lot. He had the hots for her."

"I suppose it's a good thing you don't like coffee."

"I prefer my caffeine cold," the man said. "Are we ever going to do an actual op?"

"We're doing one now," she replied., smiling. "There are some people who need to be dealt with. I have the details. But it's a rush job. One of those things that just comes up suddenly."

"Any women?"he asked hopefully.

"There's one. As I said, it's a rush job, but you should be able to take enough time over it to enjoy yourself."

"Who is she?"

"You don't need to know that," she reminded. "You'll get a name, of course, but as for who she really is..." She shrugged. "You are still working alone? No more Ricks in your life?"

"I don't know too many people since I moved here. I don't mingle all that well."

"It's the price we pay, you know," she reassured him. "We're always alone." In his case, his aloneness was partly related to his personal hygiene, but dwelling on that might be unwise.

"I know," he told her. " So let me see the package."

She reached down for the briefcase sitting by her chair. "One of them is in the FBI. I hope that's not a problem."

"Don't worry," he said, his voice rising a little as he became excited at the prospect. "If it was easy, you wouldn't have called me."

II

Gwen lay a sleepy little Ryan Junior down in Jim Woloszyn's spare bedroom for his afternoon nap. She wondered when they'd be going home. Jim had said he could put her up for a couple of days, but he'd be going back to work tomorrow. Mike hadn't called back since last night. Jim said he'd heard Max in the background, so they must have rescued her, but he didn't have any details, and Mike had said nothing about her condition.

She was tired. Sleep had been impossible last night. She'd spoken to a couple of NYPD detectives, and to a pair of FBI agents, including one named Dennis Fuchida. She knew Max had worked with him, because she'd spoken of him several times. She told him about the call from Mike, and he had promised to find out the truth. ""We'll get to the bottom of this," he'd said. "And if anyone hurts her, they'll answer to me." His concern, she felt, was genuine, but she had still lain awake most of the night unable to sleep.

She heard the doorbell, and heard Jim get up from the living room couch to go answer it. A moment later she heard the door open, and she heard voices talking quietly. She went to go see what it was. Maybe Dennis had returned. As she stepped out of the bedroom,, she heard the sound of a body hitting the floor. She froze in her tracks. She turned to her right, cautiously, and saw, in the living room ahead, a man standing in front of the door. He was dressed in an NYPD raid jacket and dark slacks. In his hand was a knife. On the floor in front of him was Jim Woloszyn, lying face down, blood spreading from his throat.

The man in the raid jacket looked at her the way a delivery man might look when bringing a pizza. "Hello, Gwen," he said. "Do you remember me?"

"Yes," she said softly. "I remember you."

"You and your son are going to come with me. I don't want to hurt you, but I need your friends to do something for me. Afterwards, you'll both go free, and unharmed. I don't want to hurt you. But if you make any trouble, your son will be the first to die. If you scream, the police may catch me, but not before I kill that child. Do you believe that?"

"Yes," she nodded. "I do."

"All right then. Let's get Ryan. We'll be taking a short trip. Nothing will happen if you do what I say. Let's make sure that Ryan is warmly dressed. It's cold out."

Theo walked toward the bedroom, and watched as Gwen picked up Ryan Junior, and began to get him ready for the trip.

III

Dennis looked through the selection of available empty carbs in the glass case, and settled on a large chocolate chip cookie to go with his coffee. He paid the barista and took his coffee and cookie to a table in the back of the shop. He opened up his laptop and began booting it up.

Be discreet, Shelby had said. Galen's spending seemed a bit on the high side, and Dennis thought that counterintelligence might have dropped a ball or two somewhere along the way. It wouldn't be the first time. So maybe they had missed something else. But he was limited in the kinds of questions he could ask, and he couldn't just open a file on his own. But maybe there was a way around that. When the laptop booted up, he went online, and entered the web address for Snifferdog, It was a public record search service that could be used to screen prospective employees, or perhaps a prospective date. It could also be used for stalking. (Although the disclaimer on their home page said it wasn't supposed to be). And maybe it could, for a nominal fee, check and see if Galen had any brushes with the law that he hadn't disclosed on his last security clearance without tipping off anyone at the Bureau that Dennis was asking questions.

He entered Galen's name and address in the search boxes, and found that he could get a complete report for forty dollars. Getting the report would be a clear violation of Bureau policy, and expensive to boot. Very expensive, if he managed to get himself suspended.

He clicked the buy button and entered his credit card number. As he read the downloaded report, he realized he'd struck paydirt.

He was still reading over the report when his phone buzzed for attention.

"Dennis Fuchida"

"Agent Fuchida, this Lieutenant Marchand, NYPD. You asked us to contact you if there were any developments regarding Gwen Carter or Max Hardy. Well, there's been a development..."

IV

"I need a gun"

Mike and Ryan looked at each other as if Max had just requested a dozen eggs and they weren't sure if she was planning to cook them or rot them and throw them. "Guys?" she asked again. "You want me to do this unarmed?"

"Actually," Mike said, "I'm not sure you should be doing this at all."

"I'm OK," she reassured him. "And we're doing this one together."

Mike shook his head."Bedroom closet, top shelf on the right. Ryan stopped off at Billy Bob's Stolen Gun Emporium on the way here."

"I know you're worried," she said. "And I love you for that." She ducked into the bedroom to arm herself.

"I can't believe we're doing this," Mike complained. "Whatever happened to 'We both know she'll try to do more than she should before she's ready'?"

"I've been a bad influence on her."

"Where the hell did that come from?" Mike asked with astonishment.

"They know where Gwen is," said Ryan., ignoring Mike's question. "I don't know how much time we have. Besides, we aren't doing anything yet. We'll listen to what Coleman has to say, but we aren't committing to anything. If she's right, and Theo is the key to taking down the Organization, then we at least need to take a closer look. But just because we're walking onto the lot doesn't mean we're buying a used car."

Mike gave a snort of derision. "This car looks like a lemon. And I think someone's been fiddling with the odometer. What worries me is that Eliza knows about Coleman, and she's got a bunch of dead bodies to explain. This would be a real good time to suddenly 'discover' that he was responsible for last night. We show up at this meeting, and we could walk right into an ambush."

"Which is why we're all going. I don't like it any better than you do." Ryan stared at the bedroom door. "It wasn't supposed to be like this. I played dead to protect all of you, and now you've been pulled in with me."

"You're stuck with us," Mike said with smile. "What, you thought you could tell us that 'A man's gotta do what a man's gotta do', like John Wayne, and that would be the end of it?"

"I was kind of hoping. But maybe sometimes it's good to be wrong. And that line was actually Fred MacMurray, not John Wayne."

Mike glanced around as if hoping that some new argument would materialize from thin air. "This idea that somehow Coleman can get her into Eliza's suite downtown and near her computers...There's too many ifs. If he can get her in. If she can trace Theo. If they don't recognize her. . And if anything goes wrong...it was a miracle that we got back last time. Even if she can do it, I'm not sure I can."

"I understand. I promise you this. If I don't think this can be done, then I'll tell her no. We both will. And if that doesn't work we change it to hell no. I know we're in a tough spot. But no matter what happens, we remember the difference between risk and gamble. And we make sure she remembers it too."

V

Max found the handgun on the closet shelf, and took it down to examine it. It was a Smith & Wesson M&P Shield. There were three magazines for it, two eight round and one seven round, along with a couple of boxes of hollow points and an inside the waistband holster made of Kydex with a clip to hold it in place. There was also a plastic magazine holder that would snap on to her belt. She could carry one of the eight rounders in that, and carry the seven round magazine in a pocket.

She turned her attention to the gun itself. The first thing she noticed was that the previous owner had put new sights on it. The gun now sported a large tritium sight. She made sure it was unloaded and snapped the trigger. Whoa. Ryan had carried a Shield for a while, and he had once let her try it out. She thought Ryan's Shield had a heavy, mushy trigger, but someone had done some work on this gun. The trigger was light and crisp, and the slim grips felt good in her hand, a welcome change after carrying a fat Bureau issue Glock. This was slim, compact, and handy, like the SIG she had carried when she was a detective. _I think I'm love._ *

She loaded the Shield, clipped the holster to her belt on her right hip, and snapped the magazine holder onto her left. She could drop the seven round mag in a coat pocket. She found a flashlight on the closet shelf as well, and took that too.

Mike and Ryan both had doubts about her plan. To be honest, she had doubts of her own. Coleman did IT work for the Organization. If he could get her near one of Eliza's computers...They had texted Coleman from a burner, sending a message "From Wayne Jarrett". Ryan had gone along reluctantly. Mike still thought the whole idea was insane, and maybe he was right.

She rejoined Mike and Ryan in the living room. It was time to go over the details one last time.

"Ok, Ryan began, "I've got us a rental car. We'll need more than one vehicle for this. You two will take the rental car, I'll be nearby. Now we're picking him up in a public place, but we have to assume that Eliza may try something. She's going to be under pressure, and..."

A buzzing noise came from a phone on the kitchen table. One of Ryan's. He approached it as though he thought it might be booby trapped. "That's not a burner," Ryan said. "That's my regular phone. And that's Gwen's number." He put the phone on speaker. "Hello?"

"Hello Ryan. Long time no see."

Ryan's face locked up. He looked at Mike as if awaiting confirmation that this was real. "Theo?"

"Yes, it's me, Ryan. I'm sending you a video. Of Gwen. To prove that I have her, and your son."

"What do you want?"

"A meeting. To discuss what you have to do to get them back. Saint Eustace ** church at seven thirty tonight. Be on time."

"Where's Jim?" Max demanded.

"Where do you think?" said Theo, and disconnected.

"He's gone," said Mike. He might have meant Theo, or Jim. ""Have we got time to meet Coleman and still make it to Saint Eustace?"

"No" Ryan said. "We have to postpone. We'll send a text, and tell Coleman we'll be in touch."

Max had begun to sob quietly. "He's dead. He's dead and it's my fault."

Mike put his arms around her. "No."

"Yes it is. I didn't know, I just thought I could hide them for a couple of days. If I had a couple of days, maybe I could do something. But they're everywhere. And they made me talk. Theo must have known, he's into every system. Somehow he knew."

"Don't do this.," Mike said. "You did the best you could. You tried."

Max broke away from him, and began choking down her sobs. Mike moved to embrace her, but she pushed him away. She wiped the tears away with her hand. "I'm OK," she said. "I'm through crying. And I'm gonna kill him. And Eliza"

"No," Mike objected. "You can't."

"Watch me. This is my fault, and somehow I have to make it right. I wanted to protect people. It's why I became a cop. It's why I joined the Bureau. I wanted to do things the right way. But you can't enforce the law, because they own it. They make it up as they go along. I can't protect my friends or my family, and all I've done since this started is make things worse. I led them to Ryan, and I put Jim in their sights, and I told them where Gwen was. I can't be an agent anymore, and I'm done being a victim"

"You're still an agent," Ryan said. "You're still a good person. You can still do things the right way. Don't let them turn you into something you're not, because then they've won. It's like you told me that night. That there's more than one way to be dead. You can lose yourself. Remember who you are."

Max had stopped crying. She regained her composure in a way that seemed almost abrupt. "Eliza was right," she said. "The worst punishment is a moment of clarity. It's when you see what you've done. How wrong you've been. Nothing is worse than that." Her tears were gone. "I'm meeting Coleman. You two have to meet Theo."

"Excuse me," Mike said, "but did we not agree that we all have to meet Coleman because Eliza could be waiting for us to make a move like that? You would make contact, we'd have your back and check for surveillance. Do you have a death wish?"

"You heard the nice man," Max argued. "Seven thirty tonight. Be there, aloha. Well, you can't be in two places at the same time, and Coleman may not have that long."

"Max is right," Ryan said. "Look". He held up his phone.

On the screen was Gwen, with Ryan Junior in her arms. Gwen was standing against what looked like a cinder block wall. No details of the room she was in could be seen. She was looking down at Ryan Junior. Her gaze shifted around, as if she wanted to look at anything other than the man holding the camera. She looked down again at her child, and then jerked her head up to look straight into the camera. Theo must have said something to her, Max thought.

"She's right," Ryan said. He might have said "She's dying" in the same tone of voice. "If Coleman is our only link to Theo, then he's also the only chance Gwen has. She has to meet with him, and it won't wait. Mike, you and I will go meet Theo."

"I know you're right," Mike said to her, "but the thought of you out there alone..."

"It's OK". She reassured him. "I understand. I wish I didn't have to do it. I love you too. I'll be careful."

"You better."

VI

Dennis stepped carefully when entering Jim Woloszyn's apartment to avoid the blood that had spread across a large swath of carpet just inside the door. The body was covered by a sheet. The blood had spread across the tan carpet until it was difficult to step over it without getting it on your shoes. He knelt down, and lifted the sheet to look at the lifeless body. He'd been all but decapitated. Someone with serious upper body strength using a large heavy blade. Kneeling down, the musty smell of blood combined with the smell of urine and the dead man's voided bowels. . Dennis had seen death before, and thought it could no longer make his gorge rise. He realized now how wrong he'd been.

He stood and faced the two detectives. "Forced entry?" he asked.

"No, " said the lead detective, a slender man in his late twenties with short blonder hair. "It looks like he let whoever it was in. We've just learned that two officers were killed earlier today. With a knife. One of the badges was taken, along with a gun and a raid jacket. . He may have used it to impersonate one of our guys. There's no sign of a struggle. Whoever it was, he was fast. Woloszyn was wearing a gun. One of those XD compacts. Looks like he never even tried to pull it. He was caught totally off guard.

"There was no one posted nearby?" Dennis asked.

"No. We got that call last night about people coming for Doctor Carter, but nothing ever came of it. We had no evidence of an imminent credible threat, so we couldn't leave anyone here."

"Well this looks pretty fucking credible to me," Dennis muttered.

"We got a whole city to police you know"

"I know. Any witnesses?"

"A guy down the hall saw someone matching Gwen Carter's description leaving with an infant. She was accompanied by a black male, wearing a raid jacket. We've got a police artist with him."

"We'll want to see that sketch as soon as it's ready." Dennis reached into his coat pocket for his phone, and stepped carefully around the blood out into the hall. He called Shelby.

"Sir? It's Dennis Fuchida. I'm on my way to the office, and I need to see you in person ASAP. Gwen Carter has been abducted, and there's three police officers dead. There's more, but this is an open line."

VII

Derek felt the vibration of his phone inside his coat pocket. He ignored it, gave his attention to the waitress in her black top and slacks. "Turkey and bacon sandwich, and hot chai. What kind if soup do you have?"

"Tomato basil, clam chowder, and broccoli cheese."

"I'll have the tomato basil."

The waitress left to put in his order. By now his phone had stopped buzzing. He didn't bother to check who it was. He already knew, and was ignoring her. He'd have it out with her later. For now, he had other business to attend to. He looked around the restaurant. Not too many people, but then there wouldn't be since he was getting a late lunch. The walls were covered with pretentious modern art for sale to anyone willing to pay four figures for what looked like finger paintings.. He sat by a window that gave him a street level view of Frederick Douglass Boulevard. Outside, a bus was lumbering to a stop, and a few people were waiting in the cold drizzle to get on. He took out his phone and entered a number.

"Hey there," said a voice. "Haven't heard from you in a while."

"I'm keeping pretty busy these days."

"That's good. Last I heard, you were doing really well on that job. They were saying good things about you."

"Actually," said Derek, "that's kind of what I'm calling about. I need a favor. A big one. You remember where Chapman's is? In Midtown?"

"Yeah, I remember."

"Can you meet me there at four? I know it's short notice, but I've got a situation."

"Are you in some kind of trouble again?" the voice asked.

"Maybe. Can you meet me?"

"Sure, man. I'm at your beck and call 24/7. It's not like we have any current threats to national security or anything that I need to worry about.'

"Thanks."

VIII

Dennis tapped his knuckles on Dan Shelby's open door. "Can I see you for a minute?"

"Come on in". Shelby closed up the cover of the report he was reading and set it aside.

Dennis closed the door behind him. "So someone killed two street cops, and helped himself to a badge and raid jacket, which he then used to gain access to Jim Woloszyn's apartment. Woloszyn is dead with his throat slashed from ear to ear, and Gwen Carter and her son are missing. The only reason to take them is to gain leverage over Mike Weston and/or Max Hardy. If one or both of them was dirty, then the oppositions' best play would be to get them out of the country, or put them in the ground, not grab Ryan Hardy's former girlfriend. If anyone around here is a mole, it's not Mike and it's not Max. Oh, and speaking of moles, Galen's got multiple beefs for soliciting in Washington, and assault in Vegas. Apparently he roughed up a couple of escorts. Somehow all of this just happened to get overlooked. . This is the sort of thing that would tag someone as recruitable. His clearance should have been yanked long before now. "

"And you know this because..."

"Because I dropped forty bucks on Snifferdog. Marvelous thing, the internet."

"Presumably, this wasn't forty dollars of government funds."

"No, it came out of my scarce beer money."

The ghost of a smile crossed Shelby's face. "And of course you weren't on a government computer."

"Of course not," Dennis assured him. "I wasn't even on government property. It was in a coffee shop."

"And of course there isn't anything on paper ordering you to do this."

"Of course not," Dennis said.

"So officially, we haven't been conducting an unauthorized investigation that could be taken as a violation of Galen's civil rights."

"Not officially, no", Dennis explained.

"That's good," Shelby said. "Unofficially, then, well done. And I think you're picking up bad habits from Hardy and Weston. . I'll call the Director. It's time to get the ball rolling. ."

Dennis turned to go, but then stopped at the door and turned to face Shelby. "If they let us bring Galen in, I'd like a crack at him."

"I'll keep that in mind."

IX

Chapman's was a whisky bar. Derek sat in a corner booth watching a young couple at the bar. The man was asking questions from a three hundred question list about different varieties of whiskey. The bartender was explaining that the bottle he had just taken down from the shelf held whiskey that had notes of sweet cherry and oak, and the aroma had hints of cinnamon and prunes. The bartender went on to explain that this brand was aged at sea and cost a hundred dollars a bottle. At that price, Derek thought, those better be some good damn notes. \

Derek supposed that the fellow was either trying to get a few free tastes, or maybe just impress the skinny brunette next to him with his knowledge. Or maybe it really mattered to the guy that his whiskey had notes of sweet cherry. To Derek, it didn't matter a great deal, since after his third swallow of whiskey, all he could taste was the alcohol. At the moment he had an alcohol delivery system in front of him consisting of a glass with some amber colored liquid in which floated ice that had, through the miracle of progress, been made in the shape of a sphere. He sipped it slowly, thinking that he detected notes of wino sweat.

He looked toward the door to see a man entering. Tall, dark hair, with a short, neatly trimmed bear, wearing a raincoat and a wool ivy cap. He saw Derek, and came over, removing his raincoat and cap as he did so, revealing a gray birdseye suit with no tie. He sat down across from Derek. "So how's the job working out?"

"It's good. Mostly."

"How are you getting along with Eliza?"

"I've grown accustomed to her face."

"I knew," the man said, "when I introduced you, that I'd either be setting you up in a really good gig, or signing your death warrant."

Derek chuckled. "Well, the jury's still out on that one."

A waitress approached to take the man's order. "On me," Derek said.

"Knob Creek rocks", the man said.

She went to go fetch his drink. "So what is it this time?" the man asked.

Derek reached into his jacket pocket and placed a folded up piece of paper in front of the man. . "I need a pen register and a tap and trace on that number. GPS, too."***

"Who is it?"

" We're being sold out. I know who it is, but I gotta get the people he's working with."

"Why is this coming from you, and not Eliza?"

Derek waited for the waitress to bring the man's whiskey and the retreat to a safe distance.

"It's complicated."

The man stared for a moment at the melting whiskey ball in his glass. "What do I tell 'em?"

"Whatever you like. You don't need a warrant for metadata anyway. Tell 'em he posted Allah Akbar on his Facebook page."

The man looked at Derek as if he had asked to borrow his last five dollars. "OK," he said.

"Thanks." Derek downed the rest of his whiskey in one wasteful gulp. He motioned for the waitress.

"Derek," The man said. "Try to stay out of trouble."

Derek didn't answer. He merely smiled. "Check, please," he said to the waitress, when she arrived.

. As Derek walked out, the man was already reaching for his phone.

X

On a clear day, the view of the Manhattan skyline from Eliza's office was magnificent. Today it was gray and misty. The tops of the city's tallest buildings were lost in the mist, and the distant ones showed hazy and indistinct through the light rain. Rain droplets ran down her window. It would be a lazy kind of day if only she could enjoy it. She stared out at the view, wishing she could spend the day toying with a victim. She smoldered with rage at Derek, who had simply faded out. He'd been to Fairfax, she'd called and checked, but he hadn't stayed, and no one knew where he was. Her anger was beginning to change over to concern. Theo was out there somewhere, and Ryan Hardy as well. Derek was nothing if not dangerous, but he could also be rash.

 _This is ridiculous. You're worried about him._

She leaned back in her chair, and closed her eyes for a moment. She hated waiting, but she could, by an effort of will, be patient. At the moment, the pieces on the board were moving, and she could only wait for her plan to succeed, or fail. She had to master herself if she were to master the situation. It was what set her apart from the vast majority of serial killers. She wasn't acting on impulses she couldn't control. She was pursuing the goal of being a successful predator with all the dedication, drive, and self discipline that would be required to pursue a career in medicine or law. She controlled her murderous impulses, they didn't control her. Sitting there wondering where Derek had got to, she decided she had better impulse control than he did.

The sound of her phone jarred her out of a pleasant daydream. She opened her eyes and stared balefully at the phone, then came fully awake when she saw that it was the Chairman.

"Good afternoon, sir."

"Good afternoon, Eliza. I'm afraid I have some disturbing news."

"Sir?"

"One of our sources has informed us that Dan Shelby placed a call to Director Franklin.. He is asking to begin a formal investigation of Miles Galen, and Franklin has approved it.

Apparently one or more of Mister Galen's many indiscretions is catching up with him. Obviously if he's arrested and questioned, he can expose us. That must not be allowed to happen. Time is precious. Galen has to be eliminated now, before he can be questioned. I don't think he knows yet that he's under suspicion."

"I'll take care of it, sir."

"Good. The second problem is your disobedience to orders."

She paused for moment before answering. "I don't understand."

"I told you not to move against Gwen Carter or her son."

"And I haven't," she protested.

"Gwen Carter and her son have both been abducted, and Detective Woloszyn has been murdered, along with two other officers."

She sat bolt upright, worry changing over to fear. "Sir, I swear...I had nothing to do with this."

"No? Then who did?"

"I don't know. It doesn't seem possible."

"Obviously it is possible since it happened. There are two possibilities. One is that you have disobeyed my orders. The other is that someone else did it. The only other person who would have a plausible motive is Theo, which would mean that like Ryan Hardy, he has risen from his watery grave. If this is true, then our security must be deeply penetrated, since there is no other way that Theo could have known where Gwen Carter was. In either case, it points to a grave failure on your part. You are, to use the vernacular, in deep shit."

"Sir, please. Give me some time. Let me find out who's responsible. I can clean this up."

"I doubt that very much," the Chairman replied. "In any case, no action can be taken against you before the Committee meeting at the House on Saturday night, so you have until then to silence Galen, and locate whoever was responsible for the leak. I suggest that you not lose a minute."

"I won't sir," she said, but the Chairman had already disconnected.

She put the phone down, and sat for a moment with her elbows on her desk and her head in her hands. The self control on which she prided herself deserted her for a moment. She picked up her phone and began calling Derek. No answer.

 _OK, stop it. Derek can't help you, now, even if he's alive. One problem at a time. Contact Galen, set up a meet. Solve the Galen problem first, and then work from there._

XI

Max went through a final inventory of her gear. She had her Shield and three magazines, a flashlight, her laptop, and three burner phones. Ryan had brought back an olive green Adirondack barn coat with large, deep pockets that could hold her phones, flashlight, and the seven round mag for the Shield. She had closed up her laptop and put it in a black nylon carrying case along with a charger and some extra cables she'd asked for. She placed the carrying case on the bed next to her heavy coat and black knitted cap.

"You taking that?" She turned to find Ryan, standing in the bedroom door behind her.

"The computer? Yeah, I'm taking it."

"If you're thinking about some kind of spur of the moment break in..."

"No," she interrupted. "I just want to have it with me. You never know." She stuffed the Shield in it's Kydex holster into the waistband of her jeans, and clipped both the gun and mag holder to her belt.

"Listen to me," Ryan said. "No matter what happens, you do not take a crack at Eliza's office without backup. You call us just as soon as this meeting is over. Whatever we do, we do together. I hate letting you do this alone. Mike thinks it's a mistake. Maybe he's right."

"I won't go in there alone. Cross my heart and hope to spit." She gave him a mischievous smile. "You want me to pinky swear?"

Mike came into the bedroom, entered the closet, and came out with a twelve gauge pump and two boxes of shells. He began feeding shells into the magazine tube of the shotgun.

"I know this is a hell of a time to ask," Ryan said, "but cameras? Why?"

She looked at Mike uneasily. She had been kicking herself for mentioning the cameras in front of Ryan, and she had hoped it would never come up. "I wondered about that for a long time," she began. "We never took anyone alive, so we couldn't ask them. I think I know why they did it, but there's no way ever to prove it."

"So what's your theory?" Ryan asked.

"I think Strauss had a kind of two track plan. Track one was to discredit the Government's case and walk. Track two was to strike at you. The plan was to get a sex tape of me and Tom. They'd surface that later, somehow, after Tom and I were killed. I think the plan was to kill us, and somehow pin it on Mike. I don't know how the hell they were going to do that, because things never got that far. But remember that whatever frame they were planning didn't have to convince a jury, because Mike would have never lived to go to trial. Because after we were dead, then someone would kill Mike. Strauss needed some kind of plausible deniability. It couldn't look like the same person killed the both of us because then people would have started asking questions about Strauss' involvement. Maybe Mark would kill Mike himself, maybe Kyle and Daisy would do it and then use Mark as a fall guy."

"The scheme had a lot of bells and whistles," she continued. "The biggest failure point was Mark. They had to keep him under control until they had that sex tape and Tom and I were dead. Think of it. Strauss goes free, I'm dead, Mike is accused of a double murder, including mine, and can never clear his name because he's dead. And the public scandal would have been really ugly. Strauss wanted you to suffer."

She paused, clearly uncomfortable with the whole subject "The plan went off the rails went we raided that apartment and Tom ended up with the laptop. After Kyle was killed, Daisy had to fend for herself as best she could. If the plan had simply been to kill Mike, they could have moved a lot sooner. Anyway, it's all just a guess."

"That's why I wanted to be dead," Ryan said, his voice almost a whisper. "So that I wouldn't make the people I love targets.

"We missed you every day you were gone," she assured him , " and we'd rather be targets than give up on you."

"And Gwen? And my son?" Ryan asked.

"We'll bring them home," she promised. " And there will be payback."

"About that last part," Ryan began,"I don't want to lose the good person you are. I don't want the sins of the uncle being visited on the niece. When I was dead, I really missed the woman who always wanted to do things the right way, and always used to tell me that I should be doing things the right way."

"You never listened to her," she reminded him. "And she always followed you anyway."

He gave her a hug. "You watch your back."

" I will. Promise." She put her coat and cap on, and picked up her laptop.

"I'll walk you to the car," Mike said.

Outside the late afternoon sun was hidden by a thick layer of cold gray clouds. They walked to the gunmetal gray Taurus that Ryan had rented. There was a hint of misty rain in the air, almost, but not quite, cold enough to freeze. She opened the rear driver's side door, and placed the carrying case for the laptop in back. She closed the door, and turned to face Mike.

"You've hardly had any time to recover," he complained. "I'd ask you if you were really up for this, but it's Gwen and Ryan Junior. So I know what you'd say."

"Right. So let's just cut to the part where you give me a kiss, and tell me you love me, and promise me that you'll be careful. "

"That I'll be careful? "

"Yeah. You're the one meeting Theo. You need to be careful."

He put his arms around her, and the warmth of his face as he kissed her was a pleasant contrast to the cold blowing mist. "I love you," he murmured. "And I promise to be careful. You do the same. "

"I will," she said. "I love you too, and I'll see you soon." She got in the Taurus, waved at him, and drove away, leaving him standing there alone in the cold drizzle that was starting to fall.

XII

Eliza drove through the late afternoon Brooklyn traffic, scanning the sidewalk ahead for Miles Galen. He'd been sent a text promising him a lower rate for wireless that was in fact a signal to make face to face contact. If he carried out his instructions, he should be waiting on the sidewalk just ahead. If he had an item such as a briefcase or a carry case for a laptop in his left hand, then it meant that he was clean, and it was safe to pick him up in a vehicle. If the case was in his right hand, then he suspected surveillance, and she should keep driving. She reached up and turned the wipers on for one pass to clear the intermittent drizzle from her windshield so she could see.

It wasn't quite sunset, but with the clouds it might as well have been night. She eased over into the right lane. He should be just ahead. She lowered the passenger side window. She then took her right hand off the wheel and reached into the pocket of her raincoat. She knew the slim little Beretta 21A with it's silencer was there. It had been there when she set out, and where would it have gone? She felt silly. Checking to see if your gun was still there, or worse, if it was loaded, was for amateurs. It was a measure of how nervous she was.

She saw Galen up ahead, standing on the sidewalk. He had a briefcase in his left hand. Good. She would have hated to postpone. She slowed to a stop, and leaned towards the passenger side window. "Ted, it's me! If you'd rather not wait for a cab, I can give you a lift!"

He got in, placing the briefcase in the back. She started forward again, and started looking for her turn. "You're starting to remind me of Woody Allen," she said. "He once said he had no idea what he was doing, but incompetence had never prevented him from plunging in with enthusiasm."

"If anyone was incompetent it was those clowns tailing Max Hardy. I had to put her under surveillance. I had to. All those guys had to do was keep eyes on her for a few hours. You'd think they could do that much at least."

"Unfortunately we have another problem. They're asking questions. About you. So what else have you done?"

"Nothing."

"More beaten up whores? More expensive travel? Perhaps you've bought a Lamborghini."

"Who, specifically, is asking questions about me?" he demanded.

"Shelby put in a call to Franklin. Apparently an agent named Dennis Fuchida has been investigating you. He found out about some of your nasty habits."

"You were supposed to take care of those busts. Make them go away," Galen argued. "And you complain about incompetence. I'm a valuable asset."

"Our influence is mainly at the Federal level. We got the FBI to overlook some of your indiscretions when they did your last background check. We can't erase every state and local record you've left across the land."

"Dennis Fuchida," Galen said. "I've heard of him. He's worked with Hardy and Weston. Have him eliminated and be done with it."

"That's in the works," Eliza said. "For now, I need a progress report. What have you learned about Weston and Hardy? Where are they?"

"We're working on it. There isn't a lot to go on."

She turned onto a road that would take them to the waterfront. "So I take it that your investigation now amounts to waiting for someone to phone in a tip."

"We're checking video surveillance. We're talking to our informants."

"You're waiting for a break. I guess in the end I'll have to rely on my own people."

"Christ," he said. "Your people. That whack job Derek."

"So you have nothing useful to report." The East River was ahead. They were just passing a grimy marine supply store. One that provided the Organization with services other than just gasoline, diesel, batteries, and fish finders. She pulled the Lexus into a parking slot between the building and the river.

"What are you doing down here?" he asked.

"Getting rid of a problem," she replied. Her right hand came up, and the Beretta was in it. She emptied the magazine point blank.

She flashed her headlights once. From a short distance down the wharf, a dark green van approached. She got out of the Lexus, leaving the Beretta on the seat. and the van parked next to it. She saw Kaminsky behind the wheel. She walked up to the driver's side door. "Take care of that," she said. "And make sure you weight him down."

"Yes ma'am"

She walked towards the marine supply company building, leaving Stinnes and Kaminsky to take care of the weapon and the car, and Galen to feed the fish.

XIII

Max sat in the rented Taurus, watching the front of the strip mall through a windshield spotted with rain. The interior was cooling down again, and she considered starting the engine once more to warm the car up. Her attention was centered on the entrance to a bar. The plan was to meet Coleman as he approached the bar, but not to go inside. She needed some privacy for this conversation, and she was worried about what would happen if they were spotted. She'd run a surveillance detection rout on the way here, and she thought she was clean. But if she wasn't, Eliza's hoods could place a call and rat her out to the Bureau. She could then be taken into custody while in the company of the esteemed Mr. Coleman. That would give Eliza a perfect excuse to end Coleman's worthless life and just possibly put her on the way to supermax.

She had, of course, lied to Mike about how she felt, and Mike had of course, known it. She still felt run down, and the cold weather seemed to make it worse. She had stopped for coffee on the way here. She took a bite of the energy bar she had bought, and washed it down with a swig of coffee. She decided against starting the car. She wanted to be as inconspicuous as possible. And maybe she wanted to be just a little bit cold. She was afraid being warm would dull her alertness. She was on the hunt now, and she was being hunted.

She saw Coleman walking along the sidewalk, approaching from her right. He was passing a comic book shop. He had a canvas messenger bag in his hand with a lot of buckles and straps. Perhaps he had just come from work.

She got out of the car and moved to head him off. She checked checked all around, one more time, to see who might be watching. The plan had been for Mike and Ryan to keep a check for surveillance to give her some additional safety. Also, if it was trap and she had to make a run for it, she'd have the option to ditch the rental car and make her escape in Ryan's truck. There was no help for it. She was doing this one solo.

She walked towards him, noticing that he looked straight ahead. Either he was careless about checking for surveillance or such a pro that he knew not to be seen checking for it. She suspected the former.

"Mister Phillips", said. He stopped, and turned to face her. He seemed surprised to see her. If that was genuine, he was an amateur. If he was a pro, then he was damned good. "Stopping off for a drink?" she asked.

"I thought I'd have one on the way home."

"It's pretty crowded in there. Maybe we could go someplace else and have a drink. Just the two of us."

"Sure. I'd like that."

"I'll drive, then. That's my Taurus over there."

As they walked towards the car, Max kept checking around, partly to look for surveillance and partly to keep an eye on Coleman. He might just decide to stick a knife in her back or try to take her hostage and trade her to Eliza for whatever he thought he could get. _Remember, he's cornered he's volatile_ , _and he's a serial killer, which means he's not too rational even on a good day._

When they reached the car, she walked around t the driver's side before reaching for the fob to unlock the passenger side door. She wanted both hands free until she got the car between her and Coleman. When they were inside, she found herself wishing she had her shoulder holster. It would have been easier to get to in the car. "So, you wanna frisk me?" Coleman asked.

"Not really. I don't want to give you a cheap thrill, and anyway, you're not going to hurt me, because I'm your last hope of staying alive." She started the car and headed towards the road.

"Where are we going?" he asked.

"We're not going anywhere yet, we're just going. Right now I want to be a moving target." She turned right, and headed down the road.

"So what's this about?"

". Eliza is on to you. She has been from day one. That list that Theo has? Well, Eliza has it too."

"You're lying," he said. "You're trying to get to me so you can bring me in and save your own ass."

"Shut up and listen. I'm trying to save both our asses. Strauss wrote that list so that Julianna could sell it to Eliza. He needed her help to torpedo the case against him. Julianna kept a copy as insurance. Eliza made you, phony resume and all, the second you walked into her office. She let you live in order to trace Theo's location. She traced him to North Carolina, but she was more worried about covering up her own dealings with him, so she went after Jason Rickard instead. You're a dead man walking."

"How do you know this?"

"Ryan stole a flash drive with files that Adrian Marloth smuggled out of RCS to expose Eliza to the Organization. Dossiers on some people who went to the House, for one thing. The reference numbers were AE277 and AE277G."

"Those sound like real reference numbers. But Adrian could have never smuggled files out on a flash drive."

'Why not?"she asked.

"Computers with really sensitive information on them, like the ones in Eliza's office, are built like the ones they use at the CIA. They don't have USB ports. That's to keep anyone from smuggling files out."

She gave a humorless smile and shook her head. "I knew when you promised me a flash drive you were setting me up."

"I was counting on Theo to help me out."

"Big mistake. Theo isn't a real helpful guy." Her smile vanished. "Theo must have given Adrian that drive. He hacked into the system from the outside. He was trying to get help with taking down Eliza." She paused for a moment. "Maybe that's why he wants to meet."

"Meet?"

"Yeah. He grabbed the woman Ryan loves, and their son. My cousin. That son of a bitch kidnaped a baby. He wants to meet Ryan and he's going to make some kind of demands. I...we have to hunt him down. Can you get me into Eliza's office? Maybe disguised as IT? She traced his location through computers he hacked."

"No way. Eliza knows all the IT people on sight. It's a real short list."

"If I disguise myself. Maybe as a new hire..."

"Forget about it. You're not getting into that office. And I wouldn't help you, even if it was possible. I don't do one way missions."

"I told you I'd get you downtown," said Max, a note of pleading in her voice. "I was wrong. I can't guarantee your safety. You can try to run. Eliza will hunt you down. You can go to Theo. He won't help. You can go the Bureau. They'll sell you down the river, just like they sold me. They're in Eliza's back pocket, and they don't even know it. I'm the only chance you have now. And you're the only chance my cousin has. It's up to you. Please."

"I'd help if I could. But there's no way in there."

"How do you communicate with Theo?" she asked. "You have to be able to talk to him. There's got to be some kind of emergency contact procedure."

"Sometimes he just appears. As in he walks in on you. Or you come home and he's there."

"But if you can't make face to face contact..."

"Sometimes we chat online."

"You chat? As in computer to computer?"

"Yeah."

"Then there's a chance. I can trace him through your computer. You have to make a connection to chat. He can't spoof his IP address when he chats, because he has to receive data from your computer. If he chats, I can nail his location. All right then. You've got to get him to log in. Twice. Once to nail his location, so we know where he is. Where he's holding Gwen. And again so that we can try to take him down while he's logged in. We can rescue Gwen. And if I can get that computer..." She turned to him. 'We have to contact Ryan. I'll wait until he's met Theo. Right now, we have to get you some place safe. You can't go home. They could be waiting. Is that your laptop?" She pointed at the messenger case.

"Yes. I just left work."

"Good. We get you someplace safe, and we contact Ryan and Mike. There's a chance"

XIV

Eliza stepped out of the elevator and onto the floor of her into the hall leading to her office. As she passed the reception desk Alisa, her secretary, flagged her down. "Ma'am? He came in a few minutes ago, finally. He said not to call you, he'd wait. He's in that office down the hall that we cleared out fo him. Next to the stairs."

"Thank you, Alisa. You can go home. Thank you for staying late."

"Yes ma'am"

She strode down the hall, her anger building at every step, thinking that it would be a pain to have to get a cleanup crew up here on short notice, but she might just have to. She found the office, a small windowless affair located across the hall and two doors down from her own office. She paused at the door for a moment to compose herself, and then open the door and walked in.

Derek was sitting behind the small L shaped desk, looking at the computer monitor, his hand on the mouse. The cardboard box of personal effects he'd taken from Fairfax sat in the corner. He had thrown his coat across one of the two visitor's chairs that sat in front of his desk.

"Where in the hell have you been?" she demanded. "Were you drunk? Stoned? Do you know what's been happening?"

He took his hand off the mouse and swivelled his chair to face her. "How long have you known about Zack Coleman?"

"What?"

"How long have you known that he's a mole?"

"You're insane."

"Insanity is a legal term. It means the inability to distinguish right from wrong. Neither of us is insane. I know the difference. So do you, since you're always careful to cover your tracks. So if we're not insane, we must be some combination of evil and bugfuck crazy."

"I don't know anything about Coleman being a mole. What makes you say he's a mole?"

"He works for Theo. You were in direct contact with Theo. You made indirect contact when you recruited him as a hacker. You used Rickard as a go between. Then you tried use him to get your hands on Ryan Hardy. I don't know what put you on to Coleman, but you let him operate, I guess because you thought he could lead you to Theo. Or maybe you thought Coleman was really working for you."

"Why do you say Coleman was a mole?"

"Sit down. You may as well a make yourself comfortable." She didn't move. "Sit. Down."

She took a seat in the chair that wasn't occupied by Derek's hooded coat.

"One of those guys I killed in North Carolina didn't bleed out right away," he began. He crawled off somewhere to die. Weston and Hardy found the body later. Of all the whack jobs I killed that night he was the only one who wsn't found with a phone. Because they took it. He must have tried to call for help. So they knew the number of his contact."

"Why didn't you say something?" she asked.

"Because this is not my first molehunt. I did the molehunt thang when I was in the Agency, and I learned something. Two people always go down in a molehunt. One is the mole. The other is the person who takes the blame for the fact that there was a mole. That can even be the person who finds the mole. I've seen it happen. So tell me, who was going to take the fall here? Somehow I don't think you were going to volunteer yourself."

"Get on with it," she snarled. "Why do say he was a mole?"

"I had nothing to go on except the names of the guys I killed. So I started researching them. Wayne Jarrett, the guy who was sans phone, attended Winslow University, same as Zack Coleman. Jarrett belonged to some group called Technopagans. People interested in both technology and the occult. None of it makes any sense, but whatever. There's actually pictures on Jarrett's facebook page. Including one of him and his asshole buddy Zack Coleman from back in the days. I lost track of the number of guys I killed over there because they posted shit online that led me straight to them."

"After that, I started looking at Coleman's background. I pulled his resume, and started cross checking it. It was fake. It was good fake, but it was fake. Records at places he'd worked had been altered, but I called people, and no one remembered him. Someone helped him to construct a cover story. What Russian spooks call a legend. A really good background check would have caught him. And you moved him to RCS, and pushed his career. You knew. You were in contact with Theo, you were in contact with Strauss. It's always a double game with you."

They sat in silence, staring at each other. "I was in love with you," Derek said. I mean, I knew you were crazy, but I was Ok with that."

"I still love you," she said. "I should have trusted you. I should have told you the truth."

"Then tell me the truth now. Why did you want that dossier on Max Hardy?"

"Strauss wanted revenge on Ryan Hardy. He planned to kill Max, and frame Mike Weston. Julianna contacted me. She offered a master list of all Strauss' students. Later, Theo killed Julianna and took a copy of that same list. He recruited Coleman. But he never knew I had a copy of the list, and I knew Coleman was a student the day he applied for a job. I was hoping to track down Theo."

"You wanted to be president of the Arthur Strauss fan club?"

"They can be used. Not easily, but I can use them for deniable killings. They're a valuable asset, potentially."

He leaned back in his chair, and rolled his eyes at the ceiling. "Jesus. Why do you always reach around your own ass to get to your elbow.? You have to do things in the most complicated way possible. Nothing can ever be simple."

"So says the man who kills with exploding butt plugs."

"Now wait a minute," he protested. "I only did that once, and there were extenuating circumstances."

"Listen to me," she pleaded. "Theo has kidnaped Gwen Carter and her baby. So now the Chairman knows he's alive, and that we have a security breach. They're measuring me for a noose. I love you, and I want to be with you. I know you're hurt, I know you're feeling betrayed. I know I should have trusted you. But I also know that you're still in love with me. And if you want us to be together, here or in Dubai, then you have to help me. And we can have whatever future we want. Together, But if you want that future, then you have to help me now."

He looked at her the way an abused dog might look at a man offering a hamburger. Wanting, hopeful, but afraid to take what was offered. "I went to one of my contacts. He's going to get a GPS app hacked into Coleman's phone. I'm waiting for a call."

They rose from their chairs, and she rushed around the desk into his arms. "When will he call," she asked, when their kiss finally ended.

"Soon, I think."

"You know, we didn't have much time this morning. You said it would be bad for morale if the staff heard me screaming your name."

"I remember."

"Well," she murmured, "everyone's gone home for the day."

XV

Saint Eustace was a red brick affair that sat between two rows of brownstones, and faced a row of small shops. Two sets of arched double doors faced the street at the top of stone staircases flanked by black wrought iron railings. "He meets us in a public place," Ryan observed. "But a church? Good tradecraft combined with a sense of humor."

"Maybe he's found God," said Mike.

"He's gonna meet him real soon. Let's go."

Inside, they found Theo sitting in a pew near the back. "Go around," Ryan whispered, nodding his head at the other side of sanctuary. Mike walked between the pews behind Theo, and the two of them sat down on either side of him.

"Here to make a confession?" Ryan asked.

"It would be pointless," Theo replied. "We're all beyond redemption now. I don't see Max. Is she still recuperating?"

"Yes," Mike replied.

Theo looked at Ryan. "I hope they made her scream." Ryan tensed as if struggling to restrain himself. "Of course it was perfectly acceptable for you to torture someone I love. But when it's someone you love..."

"I was trying to save Mike."

"You're no better than me, Ryan. Not anymore, as I am about to prove."

"What do you want?" Mike asked.

"I want Eliza."

"Sure," Mike replied. "And a pony and a plastic rocket."

Theo reached into his inside coat pocket and produced a fat white postal envelope which he handed to Mike. "Here," he said. "These bracelets will get you into the House. You can walk right in there and kill Eliza. And for good measure, the Chairman and the entire Committee if you feel like it. They're meeting Saturday night. I've hacked Zodiac."

"What's that? Mike asked."

"It's the program that creates these bracelets. And a list of who is allowed to enter the House, as a guest, or as a worker. It's how I found you,Ryan."

"Found me?"

"Yes. Jill Mallory entered your name. To be checked out to enter the House. She liked you. I learned that after she was dead. I guessed that the last man she was with was her killer. That's how the police do it. I removed your name from the list so the Organization wouldn't find you. I wanted to kill you myself. The name you gave Jill was an alias, of course. I checked it out, and tracked you to North Carolina. But your friends led Eliza to you first."

Theo turned to Mike. "I was going to have you and Max kill her. After I took Gwen."

"What do you think I am, " Mike asked. "An assassin?"

"I'm pretty sure Ryan is," Theo replied. "And you're a murderer." He rose. "Don't try to follow. They have enough air to last until I get back. It would unfortunate if I was delayed." He faced towards Mike. "Excuse me," he said, as he slipped past.

XVI

Sarah Marloth walked briskly through the parking deck towards her Series 7 BMW. She normally attended a weekly function at a Midtown bookstore. Members would read a book in common and then discuss it. There was tea, coffee, wine, and good conversation. It was better than sitting around that quiet apartment at night.

She parked her car in a deck nearby. It wasn't a very long walk, but tonight, the cold and the light rain had made it seem longer than it was. She was distracted as she walked. She was thinking about the meeting at the House this weekend. Maybe she'd get another crack at removing that bitch. She unlocked her car with the fob. As she approached, she was vaguely aware that the light over her car had gone out, and that her car sat in a pool of relative shadow. She slid into the driver's seat and placed her handbag on the dark leather passenger side seat,

She buckled herself in and started the car. As she reached for the gear shift, she was aware of movement behind her. She looked in the rear view mirror. She wasn't alone. The dark interior of the car, combined with shadow caused by that light being out had served to camouflage someone in the rear floorboard. And like a fool, she'd been too distracted to look.

A chloroform soaked rag was held across her face by an impossibly strong arm. She struggled, and tried to scream, but it was useless. Blackness swam before her eyes, and she felt herself passing out.

XVII

As the brown haired man drove the Beamer through the early evening traffic, he thought about how lucky he was to have become one of Eliza's chosen few. Sic months ago he had been delivering pizzas part time in Dallas. Eliza had recognized his real potential, and given him the opportunity to be a real life professional killer. And now he was finally, after a long wait, doing an actual black op. He had successfully killed his first target as a real hit man. He'd get her someplace, let her cool down for a while, and then she'd be ready, and he could have some real fun.

After that, he'd have to move on to the next target on his list. That FBI agent. Dennis Fuchida. The man had no sexual interest in other men. But he'd looked over the file eliza had shown him, and that blonde chick Fuchida was seeing was a real hottie.

Musical Interlude - Photographic Evidence by Joe Bouchard

*Over the years , I've carried six different handguns. (Seven if you count that Colt Mustang, but I only carried it a few times, and it was piece of s***) Recently I purchased a Smith & Wesson M&P Shield and I like it a lot. By a remarkable coincidence, Max's Shield just happens to be fitted out like mine, with an XS Big Dot sight with a tritium insert and an Apex Tactical trigger kit. You can find pictures of a Big Dot sight online

For those unfamiliar with the term, Kydex is a kind of plastic that is used in holsters a great deal. Mike Weston's holster appeared to be Kydex. Tritium sights contain a tiny amount of radioactive tritium, and give off a faint green glow that allows the shooter to aim in the dark. The glow is too faint to give away your position, but you can still see your sight easily. I've taken to putting these on any gun I plan to carry.

**There is no such church in New York City to my knowledge. Saint Eustace is the patron of hunters and those facing adversity. Make of that what you will.

*** A pen register is a device or procedure that keeps track of what numbers are dialed on a phone. A tap and trace is a device or procedure that keeps track of what numbers place calls to a particular phone. The names date back to long before wireless communication, and originally referred to devices. Nowadays, they are almost always procedures done by computers and software. Metadata is basically a record of who calls, texts, or emails whom. In a recent court case, the Supreme Court ruled that the government does not need a warrant to collect metadata on a person's calls, texts, or emails. The Court compared metadata to the address on the outside of a letter. Anyone can see, without opening a letter, who it's addressed to, so by that analogy, a person has no expectation of privacy with respect to whom they call or from whom they receive calls. The ruling was highly controversial.

In cases where the Government wants to listen in on the actual content of calls, emails, or texts in a National Security case, it must obtain a warrant from the he Foreign Intelligence Surveillance Court. The FISC hears government requests for a warrant to obtain a wiretap on suspected spies and terrorists, and gets involved in real life molehunts. This is meant, in theory, to protect the Fourth Amendment rights of American citizens against unreasonable search and seizure while also protecting intelligence sources and methods. The Government, citing National Security, is allowed to keep its requests, and the justifications for them, secret. In practice, the Court, so far as is publicly known, has only ever denied twelve requests for warrants out of over 35,000 , and the Attorney General can issue a warrant on an emergency basis without going through the Court.

It's possible to install an app in smart phones that turns them into GPS trackers. This has a number of uses by, for example, car rental companies and helicopter parents. By extension, it's possible to hack a smart phone and install such an app remotely.

About Those Cameras

I once said in a private message that part of the fun of writing Terudom has been coming up with logical reasons for things that happened simply because the Showrunners needed for them to happen. I've taken to calling this "retroactive logic". The showrunners had cameras placed in Max's apartment so that there could be a Maxton sex tape for Tom to find and Mike could be captured. But what reason did the _villains_ have for putting them there?

Recently I received a very kind Guest review from a person I cannot thank by name as I have no idea who they are. They thanked me for supplying answers to some of S3's many unanswered questions. Not long after, I was having tea and a couple of fig cookies, and Max's theory came to me out of the clear blue. So to show my appreciation for the kind feedback I have included this explanation as well, for whatever it may be worth.

Note that no one, not Kyle, Daisy, Strauss, or Julianna, could have known in advance that Max and Mike would be caught on camera. However, if you do a little freeze frame fu, when they show the Max Hardy file, you can see that they knew when Tom spent the night at her place. So if they wanted a sex tape (Which presumably they did, since they put a camera in her bedroom), they must have been planning to get one of Max and Tom. Once you have accepted that, the rest of it seems to follow.

28


	18. Chapter 18 - The Choices We Made

Disclaimer: It's fanfic, meaning I don't own anything or make any money off of it. It's a labor of love. Please don't sue me.

Welcome to Chapter 18 Of Terudom. Like all the others, this chapter is rated T. Apart from some language, this would likely pass muster on an episode of The Following. If you're old enough to watch The Following, you're old enough to read this. But as always, the standard disclaimers apply. It's The Following, so expect dark themes, violence, and general unpleasantness.

And don't try anything you read here at home.

Chapter 18 - The Choices We Made

The cold damp weather had people on 34th Avenue hurrying to get wherever they were going. Some were getting home early, others were heading for jobs on second shift, while still others were stuck running errands when they would much rather have been indoors. A taxi went by, splashing cold water from a puddle onto an unfortunate passer by. As the spray of water hit the man, it froze in midair, and the street scene came to a complete stop.

Dennis stared at the surveillance footage for the umpteenth time, looking for some sign of Gwen Carter and her kidnaper. According to a witness, she had left Jim Woloszyn's apartment in the company of a black male wearing an NYPD raid jacket. But the street surveillance camera outside the building had caught nothing, nor had any of the several cameras in the vicinity. Dennis kept checking and rechecking, thinking that he must have missed something, but no matter how many times he watched the same footage, he could learn little except that the splashing victim was angry, and could be seen hurling curses at the retreating taxi and its driver.

He glanced at his watch, thinking he should call Chelsea and tell her that he had no idea when he'd be leaving for the day. He resumed the playback of the video feed, and the man on the sidewalk was sprayed fully by the water. A moment later, there was a brief discontinuity, as if the camera had winked out for a moment, and then come back on. Dennis wondered why he hadn't noticed that before.

His phone buzzed for attention. He looked at the screen, and saw that it was the NYPD. Finally. He wanted a copy of the sketch that the police artist had prepared. "Dennis Fuchida"

"This is Lieutenant Marchand. We have that sketch. I've just sent it. You should have it by now. . We're still looking at the video surveillance, but we haven't turned anything up."

"Same here," Dennis replied. "Thanks for the sketch. We'll let you know if we find anything." He began downloading the sketch to his computer terminal.

He studied the face that peered out at him from his screen. The man had short hair, a moustache, and a scar on the side of his forehead. He looked vaguely familiar, but Dennis couldn't quite place him. But the more he studied the picture, the more familiar the man looked.

Dennis had transferred to the New York Field Office from Denver almost eleven months ago. The first major case he had worked when he transferred here was the manhunt for Theo Noble. He'd barely gotten in at the end of it and had never met Ryan Hardy. He'd always wanted to. He'd read everything he could get his hands on about Joe Caroll. He'd been involved in the extensive investigation that followed the deaths of Theo and Ryan.

He still remembered the search for the bodies, when they'd dragged the river. Nick Donovan had come to the crime scene to see it for himself. He remembered Donovan's anger when he had looked out across the bridge and seen the tall slender woman leaning on the rail, gazing forlornly at the cold water below. Donovan had blown his stack, demanding to know who had let her be there, and ordering someone get her the hell off that bridge because he wasn't going to have her there when they pulled Ryan's body out of the water. Dennis had been assigned the job of taking her to her choice of home or the hospital, and Donovan had warned that he was not, under any circumstances, to let her drive. Though clearly exhausted, she'd chosen to go to the hospital.

It was the first time he met Max Hardy. They'd barely spoken in the car. He offered her condolences, dropped her off at the hospital, and asked if there was anything he could do. She thanked him, told him there wasn't, and he headed back to the bridge. In the weeks after, he'd read about the case, gone over reports, and interviewed witnesses, including Gina Mendez. So although his involvement in the case came mostly during the cleanup, he knew very well what Theo Noble looked like.

And this might just be him. There was a resemblance, at least. But Theo was dead. Wasn't he?

"You working late?" It was Jermaine, standing behind him, his coat draped over his arm.

"Yeah, I'm behind on my paperwork. I just need another hour to wrap this up."

"Well don't work too hard. I'll see you in the morning." Jermaine started down the hall towards the exit, and Dennis began calling up the Theo Noble case file.

II

Max made slow progress through the early evening traffic. She didn't mind moving slowly as long as they were moving. If Eliza wanted them dead badly enough, she might stage an ambush at a traffic light or an intersection. She could use a hit team disguised as a street gang. Make it look like a random stupid act of violence, and then get the team out of the country, beyond the reach of the police. It was farfetched, she knew, but it was what happened when there was almost no one you could trust and you were being hunted by both sides. Paranoia really did strike deep.

"So we're still just going?" Coleman asked.

"No, we're going to the beach," she said. "Surf's up."

"Why the beach?"

"Because it's cold and miserable, and not many people are crazy enough to go surfing in this kind of weather. There's a motel on Rockaway Beach. They always have rooms available during the week this time of year. We'll have to use your credit card. I don't have one. Check in is online, they don't have a clerk on duty. They'll text you a code to get in the room. There's wifi in the rooms. We can have a little privacy, and we can meet Mike and Ryan. We can also figure out how we get Theo to log in. How often to you chat with him?"

"It depends. Sometimes he has instructions for me. Sometimes I have to tell him that I've carried out his instructions."

Max checked her rearview mirror. There was a dark colored Mercedes behind her. It had made the same left turn as she had. Maybe a C class. Her heart sped up. She decided to make the next right and see if it turned also.

"How do you tell him you need to chat?"

"I send a text. It's a cover message. Something innocuous."

"Like?"

"Albert wants to get together for drinks at 7:00. The actual time for the chat would be thirty minutes later than the time given in the message. If he agrees, he texts back and says he'll be there. If he wants to change the time, he'll give the time he wants to chat. Same deal, it's thirty minutes later than the time he gives."

She turned to the right, and waited to see if the Mercedes did as well. It continued on straight. She realized that her hands were holding the wheel in a death grip. She willed them to relax.

"Albert is Albert Shiny," Coleman explained.

Max began looking for a turn to take them back towards Rockaway Beach. "As in Albert Shiny the Shoggoth ?"

"Yeah."

"Well I guess with Theo there would have to be horrors involved. Is he expecting you to contact him anytime soon?"

"No. I already sent a message that the software patch he wanted installed was in place."

"The one that's suppose to protect against Shiny?"

"Yeah," Coleman replied, "But that's not really what it does."

"So what does it do?"

"I think it had something to do with Zodiac. That's the program that controls access to the House. It creates the bar codes for the bracelets they use to control access. There's two listings, one for people who work there, like Eliza's goons. The other is for guests. I think he's inside that program now."

"Meaning he could get access to the House?"

"Maybe. I guess so."

Max felt the same trapped, helpless feeling she had experienced in Eliza's cage. "The House is in Virginia, isn't it?"

"Yeah."

"That's not good. If he's planning a trip to Virginia, then he's not planning to take Gwen along. We've got to work fast." She was aware of her hands tightening on the wheel again, and she felt slightly short of breath. She remembered Mike's warning. This will hit you at some point. _Not now. Hold it together. You can crash when this is over._

She reached into her coat pocket and handed him a burner phone. "Here. Look up the North Shore Motel on Rockaway Beach. They don't have a clerk on duty, the check in is strictly online. Use your credit card. They'll text us a couple of security codes to get into the room."

III

Dennis called up the street surveillance video while Dan Shelby stood behind him. "OK, you can see the guy get splashed, and then the cab moves on, but look at this." he rolled the footage back a few seconds. "You see that? Like a glitch. It's like the camera was off for a couple of seconds, maybe."

"So?" Shelby asked.

"I told you that a witness had seen a black male that we suspect was responsible for Doctor Carter's abduction. Well, this is the sketch." He called up the police sketch on his monitor. "You see that? The scar on his forehead?"

"Yeah."

 _Shit. I'm really going to do this._ "Theo Noble was shot in the head. About where that scar is. And this guy resembles him. And he was known to hack video cameras to cover his tracks."

Shelby studied the sketch for a few seconds without commenting. "There is a superficial resemblance to Theo. But then again this guy probably bears a superficial resemblance to a lot of people."

"Yeah, but there's the glitch in the video feed."

"There is. But that's all we have, is a glitch. Look, I know you worked the ass end of that case, and I know you've read a lot about it since. Maybe you're reading a little too much into this."

"I know it sounds nuts, but I really think it's him."

"No," Shelby demurred, "I think we're looking at something else. There's a saying. Extraordinary claims require extraordinary proof. I don't think this quite makes it. You're a good agent, Fuchida. One of the best. But I think this might be just a little farfetched. We've got that sketch out there. Maybe something will turn up. Go home. It's late."

As Shelby turned to go, Dennis asked "Any word on Galen?"

"I still haven't heard anything from the Director. But I did get a call from JJ Cantrell, who's on the task force. He wanted to know if Galen was up here with me. He left the office earlier, and never came back. They don't seem to know where he is."

"Are we starting a search?"

"Not yet. Cantrell is calling Galen's wife. Maybe he went home early. We'll see." He turned and walked out, leaving Dennis to stare at the screen

"He didn't go home early," Dennis muttered, after Shelby had left.

Dennis had reached two conclusions before calling Shelby. He'd only told Shelby about one of them, on the grounds that if Shelby didn't accept the first conclusion, then he sure as hell wasn't going to accept the second.

The first conclusion was that Theo had survived. The second conclusion followed from the first.

 _If Theo is alive, then that would explain some of what's happened. Someone kidnaped Ryan Hardy's girlfriend and his son. Someone framed Ryan Hardy's niece. Someone wanted Ryan Hardy's best friend suspended from the Bureau._

 _Conclusion: If Theo is alive, then so is Ryan Hardy._

His phone buzzed, and Dennis saw that it was Chelsea. He'd done all he could for the moment. He had no idea what to do next, so go meet Chelsea. In the morning, he'd try to figure out some way to help his friends.

IV

Derek's phone buzzed for his attention, distracting him from the sight of Eliza pulling up the tight black ankle pants she had worn. She slipped her feet back into her black trainers, and buttoned her white shirt. The office was a mess now, with the contents of the desk scattered across the floor. They had needed the desktop for something other than paperwork.

Derek retrieved his phone from the pocket of his hooded coat. The coat had been draped over a chair, but the chair had been kicked over at some point. He recognized the number. "Did you get it?" he asked without preliminary. "You did? OK. Send the GPS to my phone, call me if he places or takes a call." He turned to Eliza, who was hastily putting on her shoulder holster and reaching for her black suit jacket. "He's on the move, headed towards Long Island. Get a team together. We're rolling."

She pushed her disheveled hair back from her sweaty face, and grinned. "Button up," she said, pointing at his shirt, and started for the door.

V

They'd parked in a deck a long way from Saint Eustace Church. It was the best they could do, but it made for a long walk both ways. They walked mostly in silence, fearful of ambush. Discussion could wait until they were sure they were out of immediate danger. As they passed an Irish pub half a block from the deck, Mike broke the silence. "Max should have called by now."

"I know," Ryan agreed. " If she hasn't called by the time we make it to the deck, we'll call her. Let's get out of this area first."

Mike nodded his assent while looking off to his left at a black man standing at a crosswalk across the street. It wasn't Theo, but rather an elderly man with a short beard. "Theo's changed," he observed. "He would have tried to kill Eliza himself before. It's not like him to try to get someone else to do his killing for him. What's up with that?"

"I don't know. It's the last thing I would have expected. But he's probably been losing more and more of his mind since Penny died. By now he's bouncing off the walls."

"He's got enough of his mind left to plan one hell of a lot," Mike said. " Didn't you tell us that he threatened to raise your son?"

"Yeah, and that didn't make a lot of sense either, even at the time."

Mike glanced over his shoulder, looking for whatever might be gaining on him. "It would have been a way to destroy a life," he mused. "Not just take it, but ruin it. Maybe he's into that too. So maybe he's changed less than we think."

"What do you mean?" Ryan asked.

Mike seemed not to hear Ryan's question for a moment. "Nothing. Just thinking out loud."

Ryan stopped and reached into his pocket. "Here," he said, handing Mike the keys to the truck. "I want you to pick me up. Depending on which way he went after he left Saint Eustace, he could be waiting over near the intersection with East Houston. Traffic here is one way, and we have to head north. Give me a few minutes, let me see if there's any suspicious vehicles waiting up the road. We are not leading him straight to Max."

"Sure", Mike replied. He slipped the keys into his left hand jacket pocket, and walked towards the deck with a kind of slouching posture. His right hand was on the front of his jacket, which was open, ready to sweep the jacket back instantly if he had to reach for his gun. Carefully checking around, Mike headed into the deck and towards Ryan's truck.

VI

Ryan crossed the street and turned to his right in order to avoid an alley just past the deck. As he walked past, he looked down it, his hand on the powerful LED light in his pocket. The alley was, however, lit well enough that he was pretty sure no one was waiting there. He walked towards East Houston past a row of small shops on his left. There were some cars parked on this side of the street, but none seemed to be occupied.

"What are you waiting for?"

He turned to find Joe standing beside him.

"I'm waiting for Mike."

"That's not what I mean, and you know it. You've never had such an opportunity as this. You can end this now. You can finally win. You can destroy them, for good and all."

"Destroy them?" Ryan asked. "But he's got Gwen."

"Well, then I suggest that you not anger him. Ryan, you surprise me. And you disappoint me. I taught you better than this. You have the advantage now. Why not use it?"

"I have to save Gwen and my son."

"How?'

"We'll figure something out. Max will call.'

Joe looked at Ryan like a teacher who had just been told, by a student, that the dog had eaten his homework. "All right then, you will figure something out. You will all come up with something immensely clever. And you will heroically save the woman you love. And your son. And you will embrace her, pledging your undying love. And then what? Will you take her with you, to live in the shadows? Will you leave her, promising to return one day, hoping that your enemies will never strike at her again? Because they will. You know they will. The most you can win for her is a reprieve. The only way to secure her future is to kill them all. You have just been handed a way to do that."

"I don't trust Theo to keep his word."

"Nor do I. But whether he keeps his word or not, the problem will remain. Do you know why? Because the problem, Ryan, is you. Look what's happened. Your niece and your best friend both may lose everything. Their jobs. Their freedom. Their lives. Because they followed you. Think of it, Ryan. You no longer have friends, or family. You have Followers. I must tell you that things did not end well for my Followers. Do you really think they will end any better for yours.?"

"They followed me because they loved me," Ryan argued. But his words carried no conviction.

"More fool they. Emma loved me, you know. It did not save her life."

"You're saying I should leave my family as hostages?"

"No, Ryan. I'm saying you should leave them safe. As in away from you. Theo has done you a service. He has placed Gwen beyond the reach of the Organization.. They can't find her now. And after, once you've killed them all, you can come back here. And if He does not release Gwen, then you can attempt her rescue. Or more likely avenge her."

"You're wrong."

" How did see this war of yours ending, Ryan? Would you come home one day, a man who had engaged in serial murder, hold your son in your arms, and tell his mother that you had, at long last, changed? That you were finally through? That it would be different this time? Did you think she would take you back, and allow her child to be raised by a soulless killer? I tried to warn you, Ryan. And look what happened. Your woman and your son are held hostage. Your friend's career is ended. Your niece has been tortured. Is this really what you wanted?"

Ryan looked down the street, in the direction of the deck. "I wanted to go home."

"You can't. Ever. When you went out into the darkness, alone, you knew you were making the ultimate sacrifice. You were giving up the life you had, so that the ones you loved could be safe."

Ryan turned to face Joe. "Then what do I have to live for?"

"The knowledge that you kept them safe from the threats that surround them. Including you."

The two of them were illuminated brightly in the headlights of a vehicle slowing to a stop. Ryan turned to see Mike pulling up to the curb. He looked over his shoulder expecting to see Joe, but Joe had gone.

Mike leaned out the window of the F150. "I called Max," he said. "She's taken Coleman to the North Shore motel on Rockaway Beach. She texted me the codes to get in the room. She says she's got an idea." Ryan stood for moment, looking around, as if confused. "Ryan? You OK?"

"Yeah," Ryan said. "I didn't see any sign of Theo. Let's go."

Ryan climbed into the passenger seat, and they drove off, turning right onto East Houston, and towards the East River.

VII

The North Shore was located near the south shore of Rockaway Beach, itself on the south shore of Long Island. Max supposed that North Shore was meant to invoke images of the North Shore of Oahu, but no one would ever mistake this place for Oahu. It was located in a building shaped like an inverted L enclosing a small parking lot. The side of a white three story apartment building was across the lot, and an expensive power boat could be seen parked behind it on a trailer. The lot above the L held a row of small shops, and the base of the L was a boarded up grocery store that had once been called Pauly's Quik Mart. Hurricane Sandy had hit this area hard, and parts of it were still not rebuilt.

The motel consisted of a dozen rooms on the top floor of a two story building that made up the rest of the L. The lower floor was taken up with a Chinese restaurant, a bar and grill, and a liquor store. The wooden building had been once been painted white, but that had been years ago. After years of neglect, half the paint was gone, and what remained was scaly and flaking. . Rooms here had names, not numbers. Theirs was called The Dark Forest.

They stepped up to the iron gate located at the inside corner of the building. Max caught an oily odor from the Chinese restaurant next door, and she could hear pounding afrobeat music from the bar next to that. No one here was sleeping until that bar closed at 1:00am unless they were deaf as a post. Coleman punched in the code for the gate, and they ascended the stairs to the top floor. Their room was halfway down, located between rooms called The Hot Gates and Pastorale. Coleman entered the code for the digital lock on the door, and they were inside.

The walls were painted a kind of blue plate color, decorated with skeletal black trees. There were bright ovals of glow in the dark paint, like saucer sized fireflies in the treetops. The effect was moderately creepy. Their room must have been directly over the speakers in the bar downstairs, and Max was sure that she would feel the bass in her feet if she took her shoes off.

"On the bright side," she observed, "we don't need to worry about this place being bugged." She placed the carry case for her laptop on the queen sized bed with it's black sheets and white comforter, and placed her coat and cap next to it. She sat down heavily on the mattress with her arms resting on her knees, her hands folded between them, staring at the floor. She closed her eyes and rubbed them.

"Are you OK?" Coleman asked.

"Yeah, I'm just tired."

"Did they...did they hurt you?"

"What the hell do you care?" Max replied, without looking at him. She sat, still hunched over, but raised her head to look in his direction. . "Yes, they hurt me. No, I didn't give you up. But only because they never got around to asking." She paused. "I lost that phone before I got taken, so they never asked about you. I gave up Gwen and my cousin. And my friend Jim Woloszyn." She sat in silence, contemplating the floor. "Jim's dead. And he was worth a dozen of you." She straightened back up. "Boot up your computer. Do not go online."

Coleman placed his messenger case on the bed, opened it, and took out his laptop. He began booting it up. Max removed her laptop from its case, and began booting it up as well. She reached into her case and produced a set of cables.

"What are you doing?" Coleman asked.

"I'm connecting them together. I'm going to scan your hard drive. Your computer has been connected to one of Theo's. I want to scan it, and make sure he hasn't put something on it."

"He hasn't put anything on my computer," Coleman declared irritably. "I'm really careful."

"So am I. Which is why I'm going to scan it anyway."

"Using what? A commercial AV proggy? Theo is way too good for that."

"I can be a little bit dark side myself. I'm not using the stuff they sell in the stores." she sat on the bed, he computer in her lap, he fingers flying across the keyboard. She set it down on the mattress beside her. "That can run while we wait for Mike and Ryan. You're sure that Theo got into that Zodiac program?"

"I think so. It's like the holy of holies. If he's in that, he could get into the House, and really hit them hard."

"If someone somehow found out that Theo had done this, who would it be? Who would Theo be most worried about?"

"That's easy. Derek. He's like Eliza's main troubleshooter."

"If we told Theo that Derek is asking questions, would he buy it? Could you get him to buy it?"

"Maybe. You know he was really interested in you. Derek, I mean."

"Really? How so?"

"He asked to see your notes on the Shiny case from back before you got pulled off of it," Coleman explained. "He said you lacked some pieces of the puzzle and couldn't put it all together. But he also thought that maybe you knew more than you put in the case file. That you might be like your uncle. He said that maybe unauthorized and hell bent ran in the family."

Max looked up from her screen, a faint smile on her face. "He said that?"

"Yeah. Are you like your uncle?"

Her brief smile faded out. "I'm starting to wonder about that one myself. I'd like to meet Derek."

"No," Coleman shook his head. "You don't want to meet that guy."

"You don't think I can do this."

"You want to play dueling hackers with Theo? You're overconfident"

Max looked intently at the screen of her laptop. " No. I'm cornered. And it's my family."

"Can I get something to eat?" Coleman asked. "I never got any dinner."

Max reached into her coat pocket and took out an energy bar, which she handed to Coleman. "Dinner will be late."

"There's two places just downstairs."

"I don't have time, and you're not going out."

He tore open the wrapper and examined the contents. "Looks like tree bark."

She gave him a mournful look. "Sucks to be you."

VIII

"Where are we going?" Ryan asked.

Mike glanced at the GPS. "A place on Rockaway beach. We can be there in less than an hour, I think, depending on traffic. She's going there with Coleman. She says she's going to try to get Theo to log into a chat with Coleman. I told her about Theo's demands. If Coleman can get him to log in, she's going to try to trace his location."

"Trace him? Jesus. No way can she do that. He'll spoof his location. He'll use a hundred proxy servers."

"Give her a chance. It's worth a shot."

"A shot?" Ryan asked, anguish in his voice. "He'll have a shot at finding her. Or he'll realize that she's trying to tag him, and he'll kill Gwen and Ryan."

"Calm down," Mike urged. "Max knows what she's doing. She's not reckless."

"No? You heard what she said at the safe house. That she was going to kill Eliza. Did that sound like Max?"

"Do you have a better idea?"

Ryan sat in silence for a moment. "Yes," he said. "I do. I'm going to the House. And I'm going to kill them all."

Mike shot a glance at Ryan, his face a mixture of anger and alarm. "Like hell"

"It's the only way. If I don't, then they'll just come after Gwen again. She'll never be safe. If I kill them, then it's over. And if I die, they won't have a reason to come after her anymore."

"You're serious?"

"Yes. I hit that place. Just me. You and Max don't go. I kill them. Better yet, I find a way to get some explosives in there. Incendiaries. Burn it to the ground. Leave a mess that they'll have to investigate. That Eliza can't clean up in time. I can leave tonight. You two can stay in the safe house. I'll leave you the rental car. You can ditch it later. I do this alone. That's the only way to be, now. I can't have anyone in my life. Anyone I love is a target. A weapon to use against me."

"The safe house? I'm getting a real sense of deja vu here. You think we're going to hide out while you go take on Eliza and the whole Organization? Even if I was willing to go along, which I am not, Max never would. You want her out there on her own? You know I think we had this conversation before, but the roles were reversed. Do you remember? I went lone wolf and Max paid for it."

"You have to make her understand."

"Make her understand? I was right. Theo's learned some new tricks. It's like when he threatened to raise your son. He doesn't just want to take life. He wants to ruin it. To drag other people down to his level. He said we were beyond redemption. Well, he is. And he wants you there with him. And do you have any idea what this will do to Max?"

"Even if we rescue Gwen, we don't have any way now of keeping her safe."

"You know," Mike said, "it's kind of fitting. That church, I mean. Because this is starting to sound Biblical. Not the water, the fire this time. Last time you went in the water. This time, you're going out in a blaze of glory." He looked straight ahead. "I wondered how it would be. How you'd live without Joe. Looks like you found a substitute."

"I have to do this. I can't be in anyone's life."

"I think they call that being dead. Let me tell you something. When I went overseas to hunt Mark, Max begged me to stay. I didn't listen. I loved her, and I thought that leaving her was the hardest thing I had ever done. I wanted revenge on Mark. But I also knew that she had killed Luke. And somewhere in the back of my mind, there was always the fear that Mark would come looking for the both of us. I told myself that if I was out there hunting him, it would help keep her safe. I never told her that. Good thing too, because she would have seen right through it. Yeah, my biggest nightmare was that Mark would target her. But the truth is, I went because I wanted to go. And she would have called me on it"

"So I went out there hunting. I didn't find him. I managed to put myself and a lot of other people at risk, but I came home empty handed. And I found something out. The hardest thing wasn't leaving. It was coming back. The hardest part was coming home and facing Max, knowing that I had left her, that I hadn't been here for her. Knowing I hadn't been the man she wanted me to be. And there was no guarantee she'd take me back. That's the hard part. It's coming home, and facing up to the choices we made."

Ryan remained silent, watching the road ahead.

"You've had a lot of second chances, Ryan. More than most guys ever get. And so have I. But sooner or later, you get your last chance. I got mine, and I took it. This is yours. If you can't face Gwen now, you won't be able to later."

"I have to hunt them down. All of them"

"The only one who's going to get hunted down is you. By the Organization, or the Bureau, and it won't make any difference. And I'll tell you something else. We've had it wrong, both of us. From the beginning. It's not enough to find the last of them. There's always more of them. We also have to find what's best in us. I see that now. It took Max to show me. It's your call. This is where vigilante and lone wolf ends. Or you do."

IX

Max set her laptop to the side and stood up to stretch her legs. "OK, I think this computer is clean. Send Theo a text. Tell him it's urgent. He has to make contact."

Coleman reached into the pocket of his coat, which was hanging from the open door of the tiny closet. "Just a second," Max interrupted. "You use your phone for this?"

"Yeah"

"You don't use a burner?"

"No. I was more worried about getting caught with a burner."

"So if I give you one of my burners, Theo won't recognize the number, and he'll think there's something wrong." She looked accusingly at Coleman. "Damn. Well, if you were smart you wouldn't have gotten into any of this in the first place. Send the text."

X

Derek rode next to Eliza in a black Audi S5 that they had taken from the Global Sutler building at Newark airport, where the Organization had temporarily relocated after Ryan and Mike's hit on Fairfax. Stinnes, Kaminsky, and Tanke followed at a discreet distance in a dark gray Mercedes Sprinter cargo van loaded with weapons and gear. Derek felt his phone vibrate, and drew it from his coat pocket. "Talk to me," he said. He looked over at Eliza. "Right. Keep me posted." He hung up and put his phone away. "He's at a motel on Rockaway Beach. The North Shore. He just sent a text."

"What did it say?" she asked.

"We don't have that, just the number that he sent it to. It may just be a burner. It's probably something innocuous anyway. A code. He's meeting someone. Maybe part or all Ryan's crew. With a little luck, we can kill the lot of them."

Eliza gave a feral, toothy smile, and stepped on the gas.

XI

Max paced the floor of The Dark Forest, while Coleman sat in a wooden chair with no arms that sat before a tiny desk against the wall. She told herself that she should sit down. She should try to conserve her energy. She wondered briefly what was keeping her going - probably some combination of nerves, adrenalin, and stark terror.

Coleman's phone emitted a beeping ringtone. "That's him," he said. He picked up his phone from the desk. "Ok. I told him that Albert lost his wallet. That means immediate. He's saying he found it. Which means we log in right away."

"Do it." Max sat down on the bed and picked up her laptop, which was now networked to Coleman's entered his login, which she recorded for future reference. The chat client was one she hadn't seen before.

MR SHINY HAS ENTERED THE ROOM

SELACHIM HAS ENTERED THE ROOM

SELACHIM: Hello Albert.

MR SHINY: Hi Selachim.

SELACHIM: Why have you contacted me?

MR SHINY: Derek was asking questions about Zodiac.

SELACHIM: What sort of questions?

MR SHINY: He's ordered a check of everyone on the Zodiac list. He wants all the names and reference numbers checked and double checked. People are freaking out about the security breach.

SELACHIM: You mean Gwen Carter's kidnapping or Max Hardy's rescue?

Max had gone over the story with Coleman ahead of time, but this was something they hadn't covered. Coleman looked at her doubtfully. "Answer yes," Max ordered. "They're vetting everyone down to their jockey shorts."

MR SHINY: Yes

She left him to carry on the chat with Theo, and began opening up programs on her computer to begin tracing Theo. She started Netstat, Telnet, and some of the dark side hacker tools that the Bureau didn't know she used. _It's on now, Theo._

She looked at one of her open windows, a command line that showed four long columns of numbers and letters, white against the black background.

"Keep him chatting," she said. She looked down the columns of data on the command line, zeroing in on one row.

PROTO LOCAL ADDRESS FOREIGN ADDRESS STATE

TCP :60277 :60173 ESTABLISHED

 _There you are you bastard. I've got your IP address and port, and I'm going to start tracing this back._

Coleman continued his chat.

SELACHIM: It doesn't matter, really. I gave entrance codes to Ryan and his people. If the codes are compromised, they'll walk into a trap, and Eliza will kill them. Win-win for me.

MR SHINY: I need a way out. As in money and a passport. I installed that patch. If Derek finds out, he'll suspect me.

SELACHIM: Relax. If you did it right, you left no trace. They know they have a problem, but they won't suspect you. If you panic and try to run, they'll know you're working for me, and they'll kill you. Remain calm. I can get you a fake ID and passport when this is over. Just wait. Let Eliza and Ryan destroy each other. I have to guard two hostages, at least for now. One of them is an infant, so it's hard for me to move around. I need them until Ryan is dead. Either Eliza will kill him, or I will. After that, I'll kill both of them. Unless I decide to keep his son. And then we'll both leave the country.

"Are you seeing this?," Coleman asked.

"Shut up," Max snarled, not wanting him to break her concentration. She had to get past this firewall...

"Wait," she said. "Tell him you're scared. Tell him you may need to contact him in a hurry if Derek comes looking for you."

MR SHINY: How do I reach you if they do suspect that Zodiac has been hacked? What if they come for me?

SELACHIM: By the usual procedure. Text a message to me if you need to chat. For now, I don't want to meet you face to face. It's too great a risk.

MR SHINY: I'm too exposed here. All hell is breaking loose. I told them that the patch would defend against any more hacker attacks. If Derek or Eliza suspect that Zodiac is compromised, they'll kill me on general principles.

SELACHIM: Yes, they may.

SELACHIM HAS LEFT THE ROOM

"He's disconnected," Coleman said bitterly. "He doesn't give a rat fuck what happens to me."

"And you're just now waking up to this? Why does he call himself Selachim?"

"It's from Selachimorpha. That's the superorder of sharks. He likes to compare himself to a shark. He told me once that from now on he'll keep himself below the water. I'm not sure what that meant."

She focused intently on her screen. A new window had opened with lines of white code visible on a black background. Next to it was another window with a map of the New York area.

"What the hell are you doing?" Coleman asked, looking over her shoulder. 'He's gone."

Max typed a series of commands into her keyboard without answering. _So you're a shark, Theo_. _And you can probably take a few spears. Maybe even go under with few barrels on you. So let's just see how you handle depth charges._

XII

Mike pulled up in front of the bar, the thumping music clearly audible from outside. He turned to Ryan. "Decision time."

"I'm going to the House. They'll be there tomorrow night. I'll kill them, and be back on Sunday."

"If you're alive."

"Tell Max I'm coming back."

Mike shook his head. "You can't even face her, can you?" He opened the door and got out. Ryan slid over behind the wheel. "All right, then. But don't lie to me. Or yourself. You're not coming back. They'll kill you. Or you'll finally kill so many of them that you just won't care anymore."

Ryan looked at Mike as if he were searching for a reply. After a few seconds he closed the door, backed the truck around and drove off into the night.

Mike stood, watching him drive away. He'd hadn't felt like this since he'd watched his father's murder on screen in the command center - helpless, knowing that someone he loved was doomed, and that he was powerless to stop it from happening. He looked down the building towards the iron gate that led upstairs towards the room where Max was waiting. He started slowly towards it, stopped, and then looked back at the bar.

There was a bench near the door, and in better weather, it might have been occupied. As it was, a man was standing nearby, violating New York state's anti smoking laws. Mike sat down on the bench, took the SIM card for his personal phone out of his pocket, and began to remove the SIM card from one of his burners.

XIII

"You've made the right decision," Joe said. "One day they'll understand. When the last of your enemies is dead, and they are finally safe."

"Safe from them? Or from me?"

"Theo was right, you know. He wasn't Dr Strauss' favorite student. That was always me, because more than anyone else I appreciated the artistry of what he taught, and saw that it could be used to create a kind of beauty. But Theo was his best student, at least in a narrow technical sense. And part of what made him good was that he understood his situation very well. He was right. All of us are beyond redemption. There's no going back now."

They drove in silence for a moment. "Everything takes time," Joe observed, "but change comes. They'll get over you."

XIV

Mike placed the old SIM card back in his burner phone, and put the SIM card to his personal phone away in his pocket. He stood, and began walking towards the gate. He considered briefly if he should call Max and tell her he was on the way up, but he was mentally rehearsing what he was going to say when he had to face her.

He was nearly to the gate when a vicious punch landed on his back, near where his knife wound had been. He was seized from behind, and a second man appeared in front of him and punched him twice in the gut, completely knocking the wind out of him. Somehow he didn't pass out, but blackness swam before his eyes, and his stomach threatened to empty its contents. Men grabbed on to his arms and began leading him past the gate, holding him up as they did so. He heard a voice say "It's OK. He's had too much to drink," and he felt the barrel of a gun in his ribs. He felt himself being heaved into the back of a van parked by the small, boarded up grocery store.

Zip ties were wound around his wrists, and he was rolled over, onto his back. He looked up, and saw Eliza smiling down at him. Standing next to her was a man he had never seen before. He was just short of six feet, tanned and clean shaven, with dark, wavy, messy hair cut short. He had a thin, smooth face and dark eyes.

"Hi Mikey," the man said. "How ya doin?"

Eliza looked at Mike appraisingly. "We know Max is upstairs with Mister Coleman. Would you like to do this the easy way, and tell us the code to her room?" She waited a moment for a reply. "I thought not. Frisk him."

One of the men knelt down and began searching Mike, finding his gun, spare mags, and burner phones.

"So where's Ryan?" Eliza asked.

"I think he's digging your grave," Mike replied. "He doesn't like to leave dead bodies lying around."

One of the man kicked Mike hard, catching him squarely in the gut.. "That's enough," Eliza admonished him. "Don't damage my new boy toy."

The tall wavy haired man was examining one of Mike's phones. "This phone is locked. Now why would anyone lock a phone? Because it's been used for something interesting.. I wonder what. You want to give me the password? No? Well, that's OK." He took the phone over to laptop bolted to a shelf on the left side of the cargo compartment, along with ana assortment of weapons and gear. The man began plugging the phone into the laptop. "I used to work for the Other Government Agency.* We didn't worry too much about search warrants out where I was posted." He typed some commands on the keyboard of the laptop. "So since you won't give me the password, I'll just have to hack into the phone. None of these things is very secure, whatever they tell you. And nowadays, they issue us software made for getting into phones."

He studied the screen of the computer for a few seconds. "Looks like Max texted him the code for the gate and the room door. Damn thoughtful of her."

"Let's go up there and get her," Eliza said.

"No," Derek demurred. "I'll go up first. I should be able to surprise her. Ryan could be close by, maybe watching this place. I don't want everyone up there yet. Tanke has the back of the building, on the next street over, in case someone tries to get out a window. Stinnes waits here and keeps an eye on Mikey. Once I'm up there, you and Kaminsky come on up. For now, watch my back."

"Ok," Eliza said.

XV

Ryan drove towards the Marine Parkway Bridge. The trip to McLean, Virginia should take about four hours. He wouldn't have a lot of time to prepare a plan, but he should be able to obtain more guns and some kind of improvised explosives on short notice. Gasoline and road flares if everything else failed. He'd find some way to get weapons and explosives through the security. He mentally ran down the list of his contacts in northern Virginia. This would have to be done on the fly, and without a lot of gear, but once it was done, it was done.

"There's no need to worry about them," Joe assured him. "You told them to take care of each other. They did. They will."

Ryan drove on silently. The bridge was not far ahead.

One of his burners signaled an incoming message. He pulled it out. The call was from Mike's personal phone, which he wasn't even supposed to be using. He started to put it back, but wondered why Mike would have sent a message from a phone the Bureau or the Organization could trace. He was sure Mike still had some burners left. Could something have gone wrong?

Ryan checked the incoming message, and found that it was not a text, but a picture. It was the picture Mike had shown him at the safe house, before they had left to try to bring Max in. The first time Max had ever held Ryan Junior. Mike was right. Her face really had lit up. Her hair was tied back in a ponytail, her face mostly in profile. Little Ryan was looking up at her, his mouth open. He might have been yawning, but his eyes were open. Maybe he was overjoyed at meeting his cousin for the first time. Ryan could see Gwen in the background, lying on the bed, looking tired but happy. He stared at the picture, distracted, all the while drifting into the other lane.

The blast of a horn brought him back to reality. He dropped the phone and turned the wheel sharply to get back into his lane. He realized, as he did, that Joe had vanished, and he was alone. He pulled over for a moment onto the narrow shoulder. He retrieved his phone from the floorboard where it had fallen, and put it back in his pocket. He looked back over his shoulder, in the direction from which he had come. When he was sure it was safe to pull out, he eased back into the stream of traffic.

XVI

Max stared intently at the screen of her laptop. Coleman sat in the chair, which he had turned to face her. His laptop, still open, was sitting on the mattress next to her. She logged off, shut her laptop down, and placed it on the mattress beside her.

"When are they getting here?" Coleman asked irritably.

"They should be here anytime."

"Well when they do, will someone please go downstairs and get some food?"

"Sure. You want Chinese?"

"No, I do not want roadkill. Did you smell that place?"

A loud click announced that the door was unlocked. "There they are," said Max.

But the dark haired man standing in the door wasn't Ryan or Mike, and was holding a black, boxy looking pistol with a large silencer. He walked in, closing the door behind him but leaving it ajar.

"Good evening, ladies and germs. It's great to be in Atlantic City. I just flew in from Reno, and boy are my arms tired."

"Max, meet Derek," Coleman explained.

"Max and I are practically old friends," Derek replied. "Stand up Max. Hands behind your head. You know the drill." She moved slowly to comply. "That's it. Turn around.." He walked up behind her and relieved her of her Shield, which he put in his pocket. He stepped back and turned his head to Coleman.

"So let me see if I can put the pieces together," Derek said. "It was a setup. You gave me the Shiny case file. It had the location Theo was hacking from. You called Theo and told him I was coming and your followers were waiting for me. Why?"

"Because you were asking questions," Coleman answered. "And I was afraid you'd find answers."

"And you never thought I'd make it out of there alive. Joke's on you. Stand up."

Coleman put his hands on the edge of the chair as if to push himself up, but he only managed to telegraph to Derek that he was about to reach for an ankle holster. Derek whirled and fired three times. Coleman pitched forward, blood spreading across the front of his shirt, and then across the threadbare blue carpet.

"Death by stupid," Derek commented, to no one in particular. "Ok, Max, you can turn around. Keep the hands where I can see them." she turned to face him, carefully keeping her hands away from her sides. "Nice to finally meet you," Derek said. "I've been part of your life, sort of, for a long time."

"You did the surveillance."

"How did you know about that? Oh, I get it. Ryan must have given you that flash drive, and you broke the encryption. Well, you would."

"How did you find us?"

"Dipshit over there had a cell phone control problem. We hacked a GPS app into his phone. We being one of my government contacts. I would like to have turned it on remotely and listened to what you were saying, but that would been hard to explain to his bosses."**

"Is that what those people do all day? Invade people's privacy?"

"Among other things. I think sometimes that for some of us, life is one big reality show, with other people's lives flashing by on a computer screen. Yours was more interesting than most."

"Well, I'm glad I entertained you. What was so interesting about me?"

"A beautiful woman is inherently interesting. And love triangles are always dramatic. You were carrying a torch for Mikey while sleeping with the only black guy in North America named Tom. What did you ever see in that asshole anyway? I never got the impression you two even liked each other." ***

"You came all this way to ask me about my love life?"

"Actually I want to ask you where Theo is. Looking at the computers, I gather you've been searching for him."

"I gave it a shot, but I couldn't bag him. He's hidden behind firewalls and proxy servers. I had to try, but there was never much hope."

"I'm sorry to hear that, because if you don't tell me where he is, you'll likely be spending some more quality time with the Boss Lady."

Eliza chose this moment to walk in with Kaminsky. Both held silencer equipped pistols . Kaminsky had a big, squared off H&K, and Eliza her slim, elegant Makarov.

"Speak of the Devil," Derek commented.

"What happened here?" Eliza asked, gesturing towards Coleman's lifeless body with the muzzle of her Makarov.

"Bad judgement," Derek replied. "He thought he could beat the draw. I was just explaining to Max that she needs to be sharing anything she knows about Ryan's whereabouts. And Theo's. I think she and the late Mister Coleman have been looking for him."

"I'm sure Max will cooperate," Eliza said. "Eventually. All right, then. Let's take the computers. We need to see what they were up to. And one more thing."

She turned her pistol towards Derek, and fired four shots. The first caught him low in the stomach, the second went low and to the left hitting near his appendix. She shifted her grip for the last two shots, adjusting for the single action of the trigger. Her last two shots were to the center of his chest.

Derek stumbled backwards, a look of astonishment on his face. He fell on his back, his pistol dropping to the floor. He doubled up in pain as he hit, a trickle of blood coming from his mouth. He seemed to be trying to curl up in a fetal position, grimacing in pain.. He shuddered twice, blood spreading across his dark green shirt. Then he grew still, and lay on the floor, his open, unseeing eyes still turned towards Eliza.

"I'm sorry Derek," Eliza said. "But you were right. Someone always has to take the fall." She turned to Kaminsky. "We found him here. He was working with Coleman. His contact will back up my story. I'll explain things to him."

"Yes ma'am."

"Back up your story?," Max interrupted. "They might not believe your story if there are no witnesses."

"Well no one will be asking you what happened. ," Eliza replied, reaching for her phone. "You won't remember any of this, by the time I'm through with you. Or even your own name." She dialed a number. "I'll get Tanke up here," she said to Kaminsky. "We have to get her and this stuff to the van." She held the phone to her ear. "He's not answering. Wait here." She walked out, leaving the door ajar behind her.

XVII

Stinnes sat behind the wheel of the Mercedes van, keeping a check on the front of the building. A drunken couple was staggering out of the bar , and a grossly obese man in a Yankees cap was making his way into the Chinese restaurant. Stinnes looked over his shoulder at Mike, lying in the back, his hands behind his back, zip ties on his wrists and ankles. He seemed quiet enough. He'd given Mike quite a kick to the gut. He checked his rear view mirror. A man was approaching from behind, apparently headed for the restaurant. He'd walk past the van. Stinnes kept his eye on him. The man wore a hooded jacket, his head down, and his hands in his pockets. He'd apparently entered the parking lot on foot. He seemed to have come from around the closed up grocery store, probably having walked around from the other side of the building.

Stinnes kept his eye on the man, who was still approaching, when his phone emitted a shrill, beeping ringtone. He reached for it, and saw it was Eliza. "I can't raise Tanke," she said. "I'm coming down, be alert for.."

The man in the hooded coat appeared outside the window of the van. Stinnes looked at him, able to see his face clearly in the red light from the neon sign outside the Chinese place.

It was Ryan Hardy. Ryan raised a slab sided 1911 pistol, and shot Stinnes in the face.

XVIII

Max stood, careful to keep her hands slightly away from her sides, staring at the man holding her at gunpoint. He held his pistol in his right hand, slightly above waist height. He was close, but he was also focused on her. She recognized him as one of the men who'd taken her from Eliza's cage and strapped her into that chair. He seemed awfully pleased with the situation. He was probably looking forward to manhandling her again.

The sound of a gunshot came from outside. Startled, the man and turned his eyes slightly to the door behind him, wondering what had happened. Max snapped her body to her right, turning ninety degrees while grabbing on to his wrist with her right hand and pushing the gun away from her. She brought her left hand up and grabbed the gun, her palm coming up under it, her thumb hooking over the slide. She shoved hard with her left hand, levering the gun around towards her startled assailant. His gun hand grabbed convulsively, and the weapon fired, but she had already pushed the business end away from her body, and the bullet dug into the wall. She levered the gun around, and he cried out in pain as the trigger guard caught his trigger finger, bending it back the wrong way until the bone snapped.

The combination of leverage, as Max twisted the gun around with all her strength, and agony from his broken finger bone forced him to release the gun. She stepped away from him while turning to face him squarely, and brought the gun in closer to her body to keep him from making a grab at it. She shifted the gun to her right hand. She saw that the slide was back slightly, and realized that the gun was jammed. Her hand on the slide when it fired had prevented it from feeding the next round. With the heel of her left hand, she sharply tapped the underside of the magazine and then racked the slide, ejecting the spent shell casing and jacking a fresh round into the chamber.

She stood for a moment, looking at the man before her, now disarmed and injured, bone poking out from a compound fracture in his finger. What to do now? The police were coming. Eliza could be on the way with reinforcements. She needed to be out of there. She had no way to restrain him. She couldn't run away if he had a backup gun. She didn't have time to frisk him...She fired five times, every bullet striking him in the chest. Her sixth round, fired as he staggered backwards, was a head shot.

She dove for the laptops on the mattress. She folded them both up and stuffed them into their cases. She retrieved her Shield from Derek's pocket and stuffed it into her holster. The gun she had taken off her attacker, with the large silencer on the end, was too big to conceal. She would walk out of here with the laptops in her left hand, and try to be inconspicuous. No one would know of the shootings in this room unless the room next door was occupied, and the wild shot from her fallen assailant's gun had been noticed. She prayed that bullet had not struck an innocent bystander next door.

She threw on her coat and cap, picked up the laptops in her left hand, and started to step over the body of the man she'd killed. She hesitated for a second. Max had killed before - Luke Gray, Daisy Locke, a gunman in the woods who was taking aim at Ryan, an armed robber when she'd been a cop. He'd been only sixteen, but he was armed with a stolen pistol and intent on killing her. This was her first time killing someone who wasn't holding a weapon. She looked down at the dead man's face, a bullet hole centered between his open eyes. His mouth was open, and blood from the wound had run into his eye. She knew she'd be seeing that face in nightmares.

She stepped over the body, and walked out the door onto the balcony outside.

XIX

Ryan opened the door to the van, and grabbed the driver by the collar. He pulled hard on the dead man's body, and it came tumbling out onto the pavement. He looked inside, ignoring the blood splattered all over the passenger seat from his close range head shot. The window had been rolled up. Now there was a small, jagged hole surrounded by a corona of white glass, and a spiderweb tracery of cracks surrounding it. Ryan looked into the back of the van, and saw Mike, lying on his side, his hands and feet zip tied. He climbed into the van, managing to put his hand on a blood splash as he did so. He pulled out the multitool in his pocket unfolded the wire cutters, and cut the zip ties from Mike's wrists and ankles. "Are you OK?" he asked.

"Yeah," Mike replied. "It's good to see you. Where's Max?"

"She must be upstairs. Let's find her. We have to get out of here."

Mike looked at a rack of weapons and gear on the right side of the van. He grabbed his pistol, which he holstered, and a 12 gauge pump action shotgun with a pistol grip instead of a buttstock next to it. The gun had a flashlight attached. He racked the action on the shotgun, bringing a shell into the chamber. "Let's go," he said.

XX

Eliza was approaching the stairs to descend to the parking lot below when she heard the shot. _Ryan._ She drew her Makarov from the coat pocket where she had put it, and inserted a fresh magazine. She quickened her pace and started down the stairs.

XXI

Mike looked towards the front of the van. He could hear Ryan opening the rear door to exit through the back. He could see the front of the restaurant with it's red neon sign directly in front of the van, and the iron gate to the stairs just to the right. The gate was swinging open, and a woman was coming out. Eliza. He raised his shotgun to chest height to fire.

XXII

Eliza couldn't see Stinnes in the van, but someone was moving inside. Mike Weston. She brought up her Makarov and squeezed off two shots in rapid succession.

XXIII

Mike could see the pistol with it's long slim silencer coming up to bear on him. He was bringing the shotgun up to fire, but he realized that Eliza was going to shoot first. He saw two muzzle flashes from the end of her silencer. He didn't hear the shots, but he heard the sound of glass breaking as two bullet holes appeared in the windshield. Fragments of glass struck him in the face, and something hit just below his left eye. Startled, he closed his eyes and flinched. He fired the shotgun convulsively, his aim spoiled, trying to at least get off a shot. The blast of the shotgun in the enclosed van felt like ice picks being jammed into his eardrums. He tried opening his eyes, but the left one didn't want to open all the way. He could see that he had blasted a huge hole through the windshield, which was now mostly opaque. His ears were ringing from the gunshot. He couldn't see Eliza, and wondered what, if anything, he'd hit.

XXIV

Ryan exited from the back of the van, but stopped and turned when he heard the shotgun blast. He saw Mike, with his head down and his eyes closed, grimacing as if he'd been hit. He could see, through the ruined windshield, Eliza running to the door of the restaurant. He wanted to kill her, but was afraid to risk a shot past Mike's ear. He turned back and rushed to friend's side. "Are you hit?" he asked.

"My left eye," Mike said.

Ryan turned Mike's head towards him and held Mike's eye open. There was a slight cut just below the eye, but it didn't look like the shard of glass had gone in the eyeball. You're OK," Ryan assured him. "It didn't go in the eye. Come on, we have to get Max."

They got out of the van. The gate had swing shut. Ryan kept his eye on the restaurant door lest Eliza try to take them from behind while Mike entered the code on the keypad. When Mike had the gate open, they ran up the stairs.

They found Max two thirds of the way up, two computer carry cases held clumsily in her left hand, her Shield in her right. "Are you OK?" she and Mike asked, in unison.

"Where's Coleman?" Ryan asked.

"Dead," she replied.

"We need to be leaving now," said Ryan. "Drop that shotgun, it draws attention. I'm parked down the street. Follow me."

XXV

Eliza made a mad, frantic dash through the restaurant, Makarov in hand. She ignored the frightened patrons and shoved her way past a woman on her way back from the buffet with a heaping plate of food. Fried rice, egg rolls, and moo goo gai pan were scattered across the floor. She got out through the exit in back of the kitchen, and found herself on the street outside. She was now on the opposite side of the building, where Tanke had been posted to keep watch. She guessed that the crumpled form lying near the delivery door was Tanke. She couldn't see a wound. Knifed, probably. Ryan had taken him unaware. She turned, shoved the Makarov into her pocket, and ran up the road towards her parked car.

XXVI

They drove down Rockaway Beach Boulevard, Ryan at the wheel, Max in the middle, and Mike beside her. In the distance, they could hear police sirens responding to reports of shots fired. Max rested her head on Mike's shoulder, his arm around her.

"Did Theo log in?" Mike asked.

"Yeah," she nodded. "Coleman chatted with him. We told him that they suspected that Zodiac was hacked, and that they knew someone could get into the House. Theo didn't care. No matter who ends up dead, he's pretty sure it won't be him."

"Were you able to trace him?" Ryan asked.

"Partly. I got his IP address. I got a trace route part of the way back. I did establish that his ISP is Raptorex dot com. I know where the servers are located that he connects to the internet through."

"But he could be miles from those," Ryan objected.

'He could be."

"But that's useless," Ryan complained. "You may have his IP address, but that was probably only temporary anyway. In and of itself, it's useless. You'd have to have a search warrant to access Raptorex's records, if they even keep any."

"They do," Max replied "But you're right. They'd never let us see them without a warrant."

"And there's no way we're getting a warrant," argued Ryan, "which means this was all for nothing."

"No," Max countered, "it just means that I had to hack Raptorex to get Theo's address."

Mike looked at her with astonishment, and then burst out laughing. "Well, maybe you're not as good as I thought, but at least you're good at it."

"As God is my witness," Ryan said, "I am never doubting you again."

"What's a few felonies among friends?" she asked, grinning. She grew quiet for a moment, and her smile slowly faded out. "I guess you live with what you fail to do, or you live with what you had to do."

Mike held her a little tighter, and turned his gaze to the road ahead of them. "Let's go get Gwen," he said.

Musical Interlude - Vengeance Is Mine By Alice Cooper

* Other Government Agency or OGA is a widely used euphemism for the CIA. The National Security Agency is sometimes referred to as No Such Agency.

** Captured cell phones have been a major source of intelligence when fighting terrorists, so I'm assuming that the military and various intelligence agencies have the equipment and software to hack cell phones quickly, and that the Organization can get hold of it.

The FBI's recent hacking of Apple's OS when Apple refused to unlock a phone recovered in the San Bernardino shooting case (Referred to in an earlier chapter of Terudom) illustrates that anyone who really wants to get into your cell phone probably can. Apple claimed its OS was secure. The FBI at first publicly agreed, and demanded a back door into the operating system. After some legal maneuvering and controversy, the FBI had the phone hacked, in the process creating a back door into any Apple phone. (It has been reported that the actual hacking was done by the Israelis, but this is unconfirmed.) One of Apple's chief selling points was that the phone was thought to be more secure than other models. The case was, and is, controversial, and a detailed summary is beyond the scope of this discussion. Search engine if you are interested, and expect to hear differing views. This isn't the time or the place for mine.

The claim that American intelligence can activate a cell phone remotely and use it as a listening device is reported in a book called Killer Elite, by Michael Smith, about the Intelligence Support Activity, a top secret US military intelligence unit.

Some police departments are starting to seize phones of motorists involved in accidents, or on little or no pretext at all, without a warrant. Increasingly, we live in a surveillance state, and surveillance of this sort will likely become more prevalent and intrusive over time. If you're doing anything you don't want anyone to know about, pull the battery and/or SIM card out of your phone while you're doing it.

*** For the benefit of non-American readers, of which I have quite a few, black parents in America do not normally name their sons Tom, because of the reference to the novel Uncle Tom's Cabin. Search engine if you want the details. In fact, the name Tom has been used as an insult in the black community. I have wondered if perhaps Tom was white when the showrunners dreamed up that story line, and became black because it was pointed out that The Following had few major roles for black actors during its first two seasons. As for Derek's assessment of Tom as boyfriend material, and his and Max's romantic chemistry, well...Derek doesn't always speak for me, but he does in this case.

Just to be clear, the problem with Tom wasn't that he was black. The problem with Tom was that no matter what color they made him, he was unlikeable and incompetent.

Ryan's 1911 Pistol

It occurred to me that Ryan still would have had whatever pistol he was carrying at the time he shot it out with Eliza's men in North Carolina. In an earlier chapter, when we saw him lying down to sleep with a loaded gun, he had a type of 1911. So...A 1911 is the .45 caliber semiautomatic pistol that the US military used through most of the 20th Century. It gets its name because the Army adopted it in 1911, and they kept it into the 80s. The 1911 is mostly associated with Colt, which was the first company to make them, but many different manufacturers have produced them. They are widely owned by American civilian gun owners (Myself included), and are still used by some special operations troops. The FBI ordered a number of 1911s for the Hostage Rescue Team, but it's not clear how many were ever issued. There were numerous problems with the actual delivery on the contract, and in any case most HRT operators preferred Glocks. Ryan Hardy carried a 1911 early in Season 2. I think his was made by Smith & Wesson.

Max's disarm technique can be seen in a YouTube video called " How to Disarm a Gunman Using 4-Step Method"

The Makarov

Essentially a Communist bloc ripoff of the Walther PPK made famous by James Bond. These were produced in most Soviet Bloc countries in the bad old days of the Cold War. The Makrov fires the 9mm Makarov cartridge, not to be confused with the 9mm Parabellum widely used here. The ammunition won't interchange. 9mm Mak ammo can be hard to come by. The Mak fires a more powerful round than 007's Walther, but it's not up to the 9mm Parabellum. They're pretty (I think), and can be silenced. I always assumed Eliza's was made in Bulgaria.

Tracing An IP Address

The excerpted "screen shot" when Max is looking for Theo is an approximation of how Netstat displays active connections. To see a real one in Windows, click Run and type cmd. When the command line appears, type netstat -a, and be sure to put a space between netstat and the dash. Netstat is one tool used in tracing a hacker. There are others, and it's not a simple game.

Search engine if you want a detailed explanation of what's involved. There's a long list of programs that can be used in tracing someone online, and a list of netstat commands other than just -a, plus numerous obstacles as well. I can't go into it all here. I'm not a hacker, I just write about them on occasion.

We didn't get back to Dennis, but this chapter is long enough. Next time.

29


	19. Chapter 19 - I Have Great Faith In Fools

Disclaimer: It's fanfic, meaning I don't own anything or make any money off of it. It's a labor of love. Please don't sue me.

Welcome to Chapter 19 Of Terudom. Like all the others, this chapter is rated T. Apart from some language, this would likely pass muster on an episode of The Following. If you're old enough to watch The Following, you're old enough to read this. But as always, the standard disclaimers apply. It's The Following, so expect dark themes, violence, and general unpleasantness.

And don't try anything you read here at home.

We're just past the first anniversary of the appearance of the first chapter of Terudaom. If you had told me a year ago that I'd still be at this, I would have told that you were as crazy as the Gray twins. I never thought that the story would take so long to tell, or that I'd stay with it as long as I have, or that I'd enjoy it so much. I literally didn't know what I was getting into. At one point I thought this story could be tols in about 75,000 words. Looking back, that seems incredibly naive, but I had no experience to guide me.

As you will see from this chapter, the denouement is coming, but we're not quite there yet. I hope to give Terudom a fitting and satisfying ending. I wanted to put everything from here to the conclusion up at once, but it would have meant an awfully long time between updates.

No one has ever commented on the musical interludes, so I have no idea what people think of them. It occurs to me that I've used a lot of music from The Dreaming. Arguably too much. But in this case, the lyrics really do fit.

Chapter 19 - I Have Great Faith In Fools

It was trivia night at Karlino's, and Steve, who normally tended bar, was master of ceremonies. Dennis Fuchida and Chelsea Barlow sat in a booth in the back studying an answer ticket. "The first order of business," Dennis said, "is to pick a name for our team."

"Team Chelsea?" she suggested.

"Not bad, but we need something distinctive," Dennis replied. "And we should acknowledge my contribution. I mean, you did ask me to come and win this for you."

"I asked you help me win it."

"And I will, but I think we need a different name. One that reflects the fact that we're in this together." Dennis took out a pen and wrote something in the space marked Team Name. "There. Named for both of us."

She picked up the answer sheet and looked. "Team Fubar?"

"Yeah. Short for Fuchida Barlow."

"My God. I am not being team Fubar. You're the one that's fubared."She crossed out the offending name, and wrote in Barchida. "There. That's more like it. Besides, I should be first, because this was my idea."

"And I'm glad you thought of it. It's been a long week. Time to have some fun."

A tall clean shaven man with thinning, sandy brown hair stood by the bar holding a microphone. "OK, everyone, for our first question, name two instruments. One is for measuring atmospheric pressure, and the other is for wind speed."

"Barometer is for measuring pressure," Chelsea answered, as she wrote intently on the sheet. "But what to they use to measure wind speed?"

"It's called an anemometer," Dennis explained. "It looks like two or three cups spinning around."

Chelsea looked up doubtfully. "Spell it"

He did, watching her closely as she wrote down the answer. She had a round face, glasses with narrow black rectangular frames, and long honey blonde hair, which she pushed back away from her face with her left hand. She looked up at him from the answer sheet, and smiled. He took a sip of his beer, thinking as he did so that she was beautiful, and that her smile looked like that slightly goofy look that women in love can sometimes get. The more he thought about the last few months, the more he found himself thinking that she might just be the one.

They had until the end of the song playing on the sound system to write their answers. It was up tempo, metal with a vocalist who could actually sing instead of just growl. He didn't recognize the song, but it sounded like the 69 Eyes. One thing Dennis liked about Karlino's was that their music selection was a little more adventurous than the norm. He hated hearing seventies retreads. He was pretty eclectic in his musical tastes, and had once joked to Max that he liked music ranging from Rachmanninoff to Rob Zombie.

The thought of Max and Mike darkened his mood a bit. He wanted to find them even more than he wanted to find Galen. He was certain that Galen was on the run or dead. In fact he was probably dead, because if the case against Max were discredited, whoever Galen was working for wouldn't want him around to answer questions. Tomorrow, he decided, he'd go see Shelby and make his best pitch about Ryan Hardy. Maybe Shelby would think he was nuts, but he couldn't let this go.

"Helloooo." Chelsea interrupted, snapping him out of his reverie. "So what element begins with the letter K?"

"Sorry," Dennis apologized. "Krypton".

"Getting a little distracted?" she asked, as she wrote down the answers.

"I'm always distracted when I'm with you. But seriously...I was thinking about a case. I won't do that again."

"What kind of case.?"

"Well I can't give you any details. Security and all that. But honestly, it's shaping up to be something of an X file.. Who knows? Maybe I'll run into the Cigarette Smoking Man."

II

For a prison cell, it was really quite comfortable.

There was a twin sized bed, and a small recliner with green upholstery that had clearly seen better days. Next to it was a stand for snacks or meals. A white night stand held a gooseneck lamp that might have been meant as a work light for a desk, and the remote for the thirty-two inch TV mounted on the wall. A white cabinet about two feet wide with a door and four shelves inside held a supply of formula, diapers and wipes, along with a couple of bags of chips. A small refrigerator held some bottled water and cans of soda. A crib sat next to her bed. Ryan Junior lay in it, fiddling intently with a blue plastic monkey. There was a small metal sink on the wall near the bed, and a curtained off alcove held a toilet. There was no floor was covered with beige carpet and the cinder block walls with a coat of cream colored paint. A video camera over the door provided round the clock surveillance. She knew he couldn't be watching her all the time, but she could feel his eyes on her constantly.

He came to bring her meals, and to dispose of the dirty diapers and trash. The food wasn't bad - High end TV dinners. She even had cable. At the moment, she had a cable news channel on. A retired FBI profiler, who was promoting a book, was explaining that her abduction was likely to be some surviving member of Joe's cult, and that was why Agent Max Hardy, now being sought for questioning, had placed her with Jim Woloszyn because she feared that one or more members of Joe's cult had resurfaced. An expert on cults thought that Max and Mike might both have been murdered by a new serial killer cult that was attempting to create a media frenzy. That last theory frightened Gwen at first, but she eventually decided that none of these people really knew what they were talking about.

She changed the channel to a sitcom that consisted largely of people sitting on a couch and talking in a rent controlled Manhattan apartment. The people on the laugh track found it all a lot funnier than she did, but then they weren't being held prisoner by a maniac. On the other hand, she concluded, the show wouldn't be all that funny even she was safe in her own apartment.

He knocked on the door. He always knocked before entering. So now we have courteous friendly serial killers, she thought. Maybe he was going to give her a feedback form to fill out when he let them go. If he let them go. It seemed absurd to observe these small courtesies, given the circumstances. "Come in".

He entered, carrying a tray with a TV dinner and plastic utensils. There was a small pitcher of cold tea. "Hello Gwen. How are you?"

"I'm fine."

"I brought a toy for Ryan." He placed the tray on the stand next to the recliner. On the tray was a stack of bright plastic rings on a yellow plastic spindle. "I'll let you give it to him. "I know it would make you nervous if I did that."

"Thank you."

"I know this seems to be taking a long time," he said apologetically. "But you shouldn't be here more than a couple of days."

"Why am I here? Please tell me. Ryan's gone. I've never hurt you"

He sat on the bed, and motioned for her to sit in the recliner. "I need Mike and Max to do something for me. Once they've done it, you and your child can go free."

"What do you need them to do? Is it something to do with Ryan?"

"Yes it is."

"But Ryan's dead."

He stared at Ryan Junior's crib for a few seconds, in a way that made her nervous.. " A wise man once said said the evil men do lives after them."

"Please. What is it that you want from Mike and Max? What is it that Ryan did?"

"Besides hunting me and killing my sister, you mean? Ryan wasn't honest with you. He never told you about the things he did. The crimes he committed." She started to answer, but he cut her off. "No, that wasn't a question. Ryan was never honest with you, and you always knew it. You accepted it. That doesn't make you guilty of the things he did. But it does mean that you accepted less than the truth. I'm sure you loved him. Maybe you thought he knew best, trusted him to protect you. Maybe you simply preferred not to know. Maybe you thought that he'd change one day, and tell you all his secrets. But the truth is that right down to the end, Ryan kept things from you, and you accepted that."

"Ryan is gone now. Please. He can't hurt you anymore. What is that you want Mike and Max to do?"

Theo smiled, but not with his eyes. "I'm not going to tell you, Gwen. When you see them again, and I'm sure you will, you can ask them. Maybe they'll tell you, although honestly, I doubt it. So much of what's happened these past two years is because they didn't tell the whole truth. But then, they followed Ryan , didn't they? And I think it's safe to say that he set a bad example. So I'll leave it up to them to decide how much to tell you. And I'll leave it up to you to decide how much of it to believe. For now, I'll keep their secrets."

"So you're saying I'll never know what this about?"

"Honestly, I think you'd rather not know anyway." He rose, and started to leave. He paused when he reached the door, and turned to face her. "If you'd like, I can send out for a pizza tomorrow."

She stared at him for a moment, as if surprised by the question. and then nodded wordlessly.

"All right then," he said. "Pizza tomorrow. I can't leave you alone, so it will have to be delivered. I'll see you in the morning."

III

They stared at the screen of Max's laptop, studying the bird's eye view of the house. "Is he playing out some sort of script?" Ryan asked. "Because if he is...Is he planning to kill Gwen and my son? Throw them into that damn river?"

Max looked at him, alarm in her eyes. "It's probably just a coincidence," Mike said.*

They were in Ryan's safe house, Max's laptop sitting on the kitchen table. They'd stopped here for a short planning session before attempting to rescue Gwen.

"You think it's a coincidence that he's holed up just a few miles down the road from that bridge we both fell from?" Ryan asked.

"I think so," Mike explained. "He needed some privacy. More than he could get in Manhattan. He needed a place where he could hold a woman with an infant child, and he wasn't likely to be seen coming and going. This area doesn't have street vidcams, and most of these houses are set back from the road. It's pricey, but I guess he can afford it. Lots of wooded countryside. Lots of dead end roads, and roads that don't connect to a major highway. He can keep a low profile. The fact is this area works pretty well for a hideout, but it's still not far from the City."

"We've got a serious problem here," Ryan observed. "This is really a job for HRT, and even if we had them, it would be tough. That's a two story house. Probably three bedrooms, and a basement. To take it, we'd normally have HRT swarm the place. Surround it, and come in though multiple entrances. We'd use flash bangs to stun and disorient him. And with all of that, anyone inside would still have time to kill a hostage."

"And it's just the three of us," Mike noted sourly. "OK, if we can't do an assault, could we break in? Try to surprise him? These woods come up practically to the back of the house."

"No way," said Max. "There's gonna be alarms. Inside the house and outside. Maybe video cameras. He might even plant booby traps on the grounds to keep anyone from sneaking up on the place. I wouldn't put it past him."

"So how do we get in?" Mike asked.

"We don't," Ryan replied. "Because we can't. There's no way to rescue Gwen while he's in that house. So we have to make him come out. Take him on the move."

"How do we get him to come out?" Max asked.

"We make him think that Eliza has pinpointed his location," said Ryan. "Could you impersonate Coleman in a chat? Make him think that Eliza is coming for him?"

"You're assuming Theo doesn't already know Coleman is dead," Max objected.

"Yes. And that's why we have to work fast," Ryan said. "We don't know how long it's going to take for the bad news to get to Theo."

'And if he knows already?" Mike asked.

"Even if he knows Coleman is dead, he can't stay where he is if his safe house is blown," Ryan explained. " He has to move, and if he moves, we can bushwhack him. Now the question is, which way does he go? This road runs east to west. West takes him towards this cul de sac. East takes him to highway 129, near that bridge. From there he could get to the State Parkway or Highway 9. That's the quickest way out."

"He might not take a vehicle if he knows that the message from Coleman is fake," Mike pointed out. "He could kill Gwen and Ryan Junior, and then disappear into those woods. We can't surround the place, there's not enough of us."

"So we move now," Ryan said, and hope to God we can get into position before he finds out Coleman's dead and he's being played."

"Where do we stop him?" Max asked.

Ryan moved the cursor around on the screen, and clicked for street view. "This intersection. Hobson Lane and Surrey Road. If this is right, there's trees on one side, and a rail fence on the other that goes around the corner. And it's a narrow road. So I could block it with the truck. He can't get around."

"If he goes East," Mike pointed out.

"Max takes up a position West in the Taurus. I take this intersection to the East. You," he said, looking at Mike, "have the overwatch on the house. Take the AR I used in North Carolina. It's not silenced, but we can't do this quietly" Mike nodded his assent.

Max looked up from the screen and turned to Ryan. "I'll need your personal phone and a credit card. And I hope you have a good data plan."

Ryan gave her a puzzled look. "I need to use your phone as modem," she explained. " The problem is that Theo will expect Coleman to text on his personal phone, which we don't have. So I'll have to spoof his call ID. That's why I need the credit card. I know a spoofing service. They're dark side, but they're good. I was investigating them before I got assigned to the Shiny case. I need your credit card to pay them for hacking the phone system. Afterwards you'll have to cancel the card and I hope you have good fraud protection, because they'll likely sell the number."***

Ryan pulled out his wallet and handed Max the card. "You're running up quite a string of felonies. I've been a bad influence on you."

"You have," she smiled. "But it's all for a good cause."

Ryan handed her his personal phone. "Here. Yeah, there's a good data plan."

"Max and I can take the car," Mike said. "We might not be coming back here, so is there anything we need to pack?"

"We travel light," Ryan said. "Let's go."

Outside, Max got behind the wheel of the rental car, and Ryan pulled the truck up behind it, with the drivers side door facing the open trunk of the car. They needed to quickly and discreetly transfer a couple of the guns to the car.. Mike stood by the open door of the truck. Ryan got out to help, so that they could make the transfer quickly, andwithout being seen. As Mike was about to reach into the truck, Ryan held up a hand to stop him and leaned close to Mike so they could speak quietly.

"Thank you for not telling her," he said.

"It's OK. It never happened."

"And thanks for not giving up on me."

"I gotta have you there to walk Max down the aisle."

"Count on it."

IV

The Chairman sat at his desk studying the contents of a thick folder stamped Top Secret on the outside, along with dire warnings of fnes and prison if it were mishandled. . He looked up from

the folder at the uniformed man sitting on the other side of the desk who had brought it to him. His blue uniform was covered with badges and a massive salad bar of ribbons. Most of those, the Chairman knew, were just costume jewelry. The modern US military awarded medals for things that in any other army would have covered by a notation in the person's promotion jacket. Still, some of those ribbons were high combat decorations, including a Purple Heart. Back in the days when the country won its wars, he reflected, Army uniforms had been simpler and the decorations less pretentious. Maybe there was a connection.

"You're confident of the intelligence?" The Chairman asked. "I have to take this to the President tomorrow. He'll want to know that this is a high value target set, and he'll ask about collateral damage."

"Target set? It's a kill list. We're going to kill these people with drones. As for high value...they're replaceable, all of them."

"You made Colonel in a remarkably short time," the Chairman said, amusement in his voice. "But with an attitude like that, you'll never make General."

The Colonel shrugged. "I've only got to shovel this shit for two more years."

"I gather you disapprove."

"I was a young Lieutenant on an A detachment when we went into Afghanistan in '01. We're still there, and I'm not far frm retirement. Judging by the results obtained, I think we're doing something wrong."

"Explain."

"Wars are no longer fought in conventional battle space. They're fought in social space. We don't understand or accept that, and that's how we manage to lose, even when we have every advantage in technology and firepower."

"The enemy," he continued, " fights in ways that bring them together, and increase their cohesion. We fight in ways that divide and undermine us. The enemy burns people alive, rapes and enslaves women, carries out mass shootings. They display it on their social media. The savagery of the act becomes its own justification, and proof of their power. They pledge allegiance online to their leaders and to their social group. It gives them a sense of belonging."

"By contrast, we fight in ways that divide us and weaken our cohesion. We attack and destroy things and people of little relevance. We kill a certain number of innocent people every time we use our advantage in firepower. In a modern war, you destroy the enemy by leaving him divided and isolated. And I don't just mean isolated as in surrounded. I mean isolated as in isolated socially, diplomatically, economically, and in every other way. Isolated mentally. Isolated from reality. Let the enemy destroy himself with his own bad decisions. In a modern war, you win by maintaining your own internal cohesion, and fighting at the lowest possible cost in money, moral and diplomatic support, and lives. . You lose by becoming divided and delusional. And we have."

"Well, that's an interesting theory, from a certain perspective," the Chairman replied, in a tone that indicated that he didn't find it interesting at all. "But the President won't be interested in it. He'll want to know if targeting these people will degrade the enemy's capabilities. Will it?"

"Yes," the Colonel said. "Temporarily. Until they're replaced."

"As long as they aren't replaced during the current news cycle. Thank you Colonel. That will be all."

The Colonel left, and the Chairman set the folder aside. The Colonel, he decided, was due for transfer. If, as he said, was leaving in two years, then it as time to replace him with someone who had a long term career to think about. He didn't need unsolicited advice, simply because the people he reported to wouldn't heed it anyway.

His Blackberry began playing some soft electronic music with a prominent bass line. The fact that he was allowed to have one in the building was proof of his importance. Cell phones were forbidden here, since they were potential eavesdropping devices. Only a few people were exempt from this rule, despite the fact that many people applied for exemptions. The fact that you were exempt from the rules was the ultimate proof of your importance. You had to have a Blackberry specially made at great expense to the taxpayer that was, in theory, secure. He looked at the display, recognized the name, and answered the call.

"Clayton Alford"

" I'm sorry to disturb you at this hour."

"Actually, I'm working late. It doesn't become a disturbance until I get home."

"Indeed. . Have you spoken to Eliza recently?"

"Not for the last few hours."

"Earlier today I met with Derek. He asked us to monitor a phone number. He claimed to be investigating a security breach. Normally I would expect such a request to come through Eliza, but I went along with it. I've always had confidence in Derek."

"So have I. Did he say what sort of security breach?"

"He said that the Organization was being sold out. He didn't give a name, but said he knew who it was."

"Whose number was he interested in?"

"A man named Zack Coleman. He works for Rhyolite Cyber Systems, and was just promoted to run the company. He was supposed to be taking over Eliza's IT."

The Chairman had a sinking feeling that his day, which had already been long, was about to get a lot longer. "So what's happened?"

"A while ago, Eliza called, and said that she tracked Derek to a meeting with Mister Coleman. She found them in a motel room on Long Island along with Max Hardy. She attempted to capture them alive, but apparently Ryan Hardy and Mike Weston intervened. In the ensuing melee, Derek and Zack Coleman died, along with an entire tactical team that Eliza had taken along. Max Hardy escaped, as did Ryan and Mike Weston. What's worse is that a vehicle and weapons were left behind along with the bodies, and the police were on the scene long before a cleanup crew could be summoned. Let me add that I learned of some of this from a source in the NYPD, not from Eliza. "

"My God. Is the vehicle traceable?"

"It should be sterile. I believe it was registered to Fairfax International Forwarding, and there's a maze of front companies between that and the Organization. The weapons, I'm sure, are sterile as a matter of routine procedure."

"Why was she tracking Derek?" the Chairman demanded.

"She said he took an unauthorized trip to North Carolina recently, during the time she was hunting for Ryan Hardy. She says that Mister Coleman apparently had followers in North Carolina of which we were not aware. She says that Ryan Hardy may have escaped in North Carolina because someone tipped him off."

"And what do you believe?"

There was a pause on the other end of the line. "Eliza has been under tremendous pressure. At best, her judgement may be questionable. At worst..."

"We need to get a grip on this situation," the Chairman said. "Put a hold on Eliza's passport. Put her on the no fly list. I don't want her leaving the country before we have a chance to speak with her."

"I'm on it."

"And I'm getting on a plane to New York."

V

The roads here were narrow, and without yellow lines. It was almost like one long driveway. There was no traffic. Max drove. Mike sat in the passenger seat. The laptops were in the back seat. The rifle and shotgun were in the trunk. If they were stopped, the weapons would be out of sight barring a search. New York state wasn't a healthy place to be driving around with a trunk load of stolen guns.

"How are you holding up?" Mike asked.

"I'm OK"

He looked at her, worry etched in his face.

"I'm OK," she repeated. "I've got enough left to do this. It's not like I can stop and take a nap now, is it?" She began slowing down.

On the right they could see a two story brick house. There were lights on over the garage door on the left side, and over the porch."That's the place," Mike said.

She passed the driveway and pulled over. On the right were dense woods. "Good luck," she said, as he jumped out of the car and closed the door behind him. She opened the latch for the trunk so that he could retrieve the rifle and shotgun. He slung the AR over his shoulder, the shotgun he tossed into the back seat. She rolled up the window and drove off as he disappeared into the woods. She drove on, looking for the next intersection.

It was a short distance down the road. She pulled over, pulled the hood latch, and turned on her hazard lights. She got out and opened the hood, then got back in the car and opened up her laptop. She had to send a text to Theo, and she had to hope that he'd answer quickly. The longer she sat here, the more likely it was that she would attract the attention of the police. Ryan was taking up positon at the intersection they had picked out down the road. If Theo headed East, as they expected, Ryan would stop him. If not, she'd have to stop him here. Mike would observe the house and radio which way that Theo went, assuming he fell for the ruse.

She got in the passenger seat, where she would have more room to work, and began booting up her laptop.

VI

Theo stared intently at the computer screen before him, lost to the make believe world outside the window, and wrapped up in the real world that flicked by on the screen. Three windows were open. One showed news reports, another showed updates from the worm program that Tom Reyes had planted on the FBI servers so long ago. In the lower right hand part of the screen was a chat client.

PENNEY: T, YOU STAY UP TOO LATE. YOU NEED TO TURN IN

T: I HAVE TO MAKE SURE MY GUESTS ARE TAKEN CARE OF BEFORE BEDTIME. WHAT KIND OF HOST WOULD I BE IF I DIDN'T?

PENNEY: IT'S NOT LIKE THEY'D SHOW YOU THE SAME CONSIDERATION.

T: TRUE, BUT IT'S IMPORTANT TO KEEP THEM HEALTHY. OTHERWISE, HOW CAN I KILL THEM IN FRONT OF RYAN. IF IT COMES TO THAT.

PENNEY: IF? T, YOU KNOW IT WILL. RYAN WON'T DO WHAT YOU SAY, AND IF HE DOES, HE'LL COME FOR YOU LATER, WHETHER YOU LET THEM GO OR NOT.

T: WE'LL SEE WHAT RYAN DOES. BUT WHETHER HE COMES AFTER ME OR GOES TO THE HOUSE TO KILL ELIZA, IT WORKS EITHER WAY. IF HE COMES FOR ME, HIS WOMAN AND HIS SON DIE IN FRONT OF HIM. IF HE GOES TO THE HOUSE, HE DIES, OR SPENDS THE REST OF HIS LIFE HUNTED. EITHER WAY, HE HAS NO FUTURE. I KEEP MY PROMISES. AND MY THREATS

PENNEY: YOU NEED TO BE GETTING OUT OF THE COUNTRY OR YOU WON'T HAVE A FUTURE.

T: SOON

Theo heard the ringtone of his phone that announced a text from Coleman - a piano cover of the ringtone from One Missed Call. He picked up the phone from his computer desk and checked the message.

"Albert has lost his wallet. He left it with you. Please call him right away, it's urgent."

He turned back to the chat window open on his computer.

T: I HAVE TO GO BABE. IT'S KIND OF ANNOYING BUT SOMEONE WANTS TO TALK TO ME. THEY'RE NOT MUCH LONGER FOR THIS EARTH, SO I SHOULD TALK TO THEM WHILE I CAN.

PENNEY: OK. BUH BYE {{{{{T}}}}}

T: {{{{{PENNEY}}}}}

T HAS LEFT THE ROOM

He texted back. "I've got the wallet. Tell Albert to log in and chat."

VI

Max picked up the small radio Mike had left with her.

"He's logging in. Stand by."

She was already online with the laptop. The connection here wasn't great and speed was a bit slow. She hoped that wouldn't make him suspicious. She was worried that he might want a video chat. He hadn't wanted that with Coleman. She normally kept a piece of tape over her laptop as a precaution against hackers. She hadn't always done that, but Kyle and Daisy had made her paranois about cameras that might or might not be under her control. ***

She logged in to the chat

MR SHINY HAS ENTERED THE ROOM

SELACHIM HAS ENTERED THE ROOM

SELACHIM: HELLO ALBERT. WHAT'S THE EMERGENCY

MR SHINY: ELIZA HAS YOUR LOCATION. YOU NEED TO GET OUT AND YOU NEED TO GET ME OUT.

SELACHIM: ELIZA CAN'T HAVE MY LOCATION

MR SHINY: SHE DOES SELACHIM. SHE'S SETTLING SCORES. MAX HARDY IS DEAD. MAYBE RYAN TOO. I'M PROBABLY NEXT. SHE'S KILLING EVERYONE AND CLEANING UP LOOSE ENDS. I NEED TO GET OUT AND SO DO YOU. I'VE GIVEN YOU A WARNING AND I DIDN'T HAVE TO. YOU OWE ME.

SELACHIM: IF MAX HARDY IS DEAD IT'S BECAUSE YOU SOLD HER OUT. YOU PROBABLY SOLD ME OUT TOO. LET ME GUESS. YOU SWITCHED SIDES. AGAIN. THIS IS GETTING OLD. MORE LIKELY ELIZA HAS YOU AT GUNPOINT AND SHE'S TRYING TO GET YOU TO SET UP A MEET.

MR SHINY: NO. I'M TELLING THE TRUTH. I SWEAR

SELACHIM: I DON'T BELIEVE YOU.

MR SHINY: 32 HOBSON LANE. SHE KNOWS AND SHE'S COMING FOR YOU

A pause in the chat. Max waited, seconds slipping by to an eternity. Was he still there?

SELACHIM: OK THEN. I'M LEAVING. I'LL CONTACT YOU IN ONE HOUR. HAVE NO MORE THAN ONE BAG.

MR SHINY: THANK YOU

SELACHIM HAS LEFT THE ROOM

Max keyed the radio. "I think he bought it. Look sharp."

She closed up her computer, shut it down, and placed it in the back seat. She got out and closed the hood, but left the hazard lights flashing. She took the shotgun and placed it, muzzle down in the floorboard, on the passenger seat. If a cop came by now, she'd be arrested, but if he moved, the needed the weapon handy. A car approached from behind her. It began slowing, but did not stop. Not the police, then. But maybe someone who would call them.

VII

"That was awesome," Chelsea exulted. Between you knowing the geography and history stuff, and me knowing the TV and movie stuff, we make a great team."

"We do," Dennis agreed. "And I also knew the science stuff. And a lot of the sports stuff."

"And you're so modest about it."

"I am. So what are you doing with your half of the money?"

"I don't know. Maybe put it towards a new dress. What about you?"

He thought for a moment. "It's dinner and drinks out. Or maybe a movie night." He pushed the button for the parking deck elevator. "Or I can put it towards my next car payment since I've just started making them. Sorry about the long walk. I wish we could have parked closer."

"I don't mind a long walk. How'd you know pineapples originated in South America? I would have said they came from Hawaii "

"Honestly...I think I saw it on Jeopardy."

VIII

He was startled into alertness by the elevator door opening. The deck was more crowded than he would have liked. He would have preferred to park further from the elevator, and walk towards them as they approached the FBI agent's car. As it was, he'd have to get out and walk up behind them. That meant getting out of his car and walking away from the elevator, which was not the expected thing. On the other hand, he should have his attention on the girl. So he shouldn't be noticed. Just walk up from behind, kill the FBI agent with a knife...and then he could pay some attention to the girl himself.

IX

They stepped out of the elevator onto the third level.

"No," Dennis was explaining, "my folks never kept any kind of livestock. It wasn't that kind of a farm. Peaches mainly. No roosters, no cows, nothing like that."

They were walking towards Dennis' new Impala. "I've decided to give it name," he said. "It should have some personality." He was vaguely aware of a car door opening behind him, and man getting out.

"What are you going to call it?" she asked.

"Vlad. As in Vlad the Impala."

"I like it," she laughed. "And it's even black, so it's kind of fitting."

"Not plain black," he corrected her. "Because that's too plain, Mosaic black metallic."

"Mosaic black metallic," she repeated. "Well, I'm sure you wouldn't want plain. But the name still fits."

They were passing close to a Ford Expedition, silver, with a large expanse of window glass in back. Dennis saw movement, and glanced away from Chelsea to see what it was. It was reflection in the glass of big silver Ford. A man walking towards them.

The man who had gotten out of the car. Only he wasn't walking towards the elevator. He was walking towards them. And he was picking up his pace.

Dennis turned his head to see behind him. A thickset man in jeans, sneakers, and a suede coat was closing on them, and his right hand was sweeping his coat open. Dennis stopped in his tracks. The man was pulling out about seven inches of knife with a black oxide coating.

"Run!" Dennis shouted, as he spun to face his attacker.

Dennis was carrying a gun on his belt. It wasn't his usual Glock 23, it was a model 27, a Baby Glock**** that he carried as a backup. But his attacker was closing fast, and he knew he'd never be able to draw in time. He brought his hands up to guard position. He was going to have to take on a knife wielding attacker barehanded. If he reached for his gun with the man less than ten feet away, he'd end up with his intestines down around his ankles.

The man hesitated for a moment. He hadn't been expecting a fight.. But had lost the element of surprise now. He began closing the rest of the way. Dennis kept his eyes focused on the man's chest. He had to know if the knife would be used overhand, underhand, or thrust straight at him at chest height.

The man committed. He was going for an underhand thrust gut his target. Dennis swung with his left arm to block the man's wrist and jumped back slightly, landing with his knees bent. He felt the man's wrist contact his left forearm. He pushed hard with his left arm to move the knife away from his body and committed to his own attack. With his right hand he hit the man's right shoulder hard and grabbed on, leaning into his opponent.

The man was surprised, and off balance. It wasn't supposed to be like this. Dennis pushed hard on the man's wrist and shoulder, forcing his arm back, leaving his shocked attacker unable to use the knife. It also left his torso exposed. Dennis kicked him hard, catching him squarely in the balls, then grabbed onto the mans upper arm and wrist. Don't try to lock his elbow, he thought, just bend the wrist back and get that knife away. Dennis began forcing the man's arm up painfully behind him, and twisting the knife out of his hand. Between the pain in his arm and the pain in his nuts he released the knife and sank to the concrete deck.

Dennis tossed the knife, and reached for his Glock. "April fool, motherfucker," he said. "Face down and spread." The statement was redundant. The man was already face down, clutching his groin in agony. "Are you all right?" he called to Chelsea, without taking his eyes off the man.

"Yeah," she nodded, her eyes wide with shock.

"Call 911." He turned to the man on the ground, and gave him a kick in the ribs. "What part of spread did you not understand?"

X

Gwen was awakened by the sound of the door opening, and by the light in the room coming on. She looked up to see Theo standing over her. He hadn't knocked this time, and there was something in his face...anger? "Please..."

"Get up," he said. Get dressed. And get little Ryan dressed. We have to leave. Now."

XI

"I think he bought it. Look sharp."

Mike had picked a position at the end of the driveway, which ran up to the left side of the house. It was brick, two story, with a wood garage built onto the left side. Woods ran up almost to the edge of the driveway away from the house, and along the road as you moved away from it. At the end of the driveway was a telephone pole, with a ground wire that entered the ground just beyond the woods at the very end of the driveway. He decided that he had better take what Max had said seriously. Theo might well have placed booby traps around the house, but he was not likely to have placed any near the pole because of the possibility of utility workers tripping them. From here he could see the front and side of the house. If Theo left in a car, he could radio to Ryan and Max and alert them.

The dampness of the ground seeped into his jeans. His jacket was warm and waterproof, but his legs were miserably cold. So were his hands. He had no gloves. He hadn't expected to be sitting in the brush, at night, on the freezing cold ground, waiting to spring an ambush on a maniac. He flexed his hands to keep them from getting stiff. He blew on them, hoping to warm them with his breath. It didn't seem to help much.

He saw lights go on downstairs. He considered calling Ryan and Max, but thought better of it. They're on the alert. Don't make noise. He froze, not daring to move, breathing slowly and evenly. The AR was by his side, his right hand on the handguard. His whole world narrowed to the garage door he was staring at.

Lights came on in the garage. He could see people moving around through the narrow windows in the garage door, but at this distance he couldn't make out who or exactly how many. After a few seconds, or maybe an hour, the garage door rolled up, revealing dark gray Nissan Pathfinder. It's headlights came on, and it started down the driveway. As soon as it left the garage, the door began to roll down.

As the car came closer, he put his face down on the wet ground, lest it show in the headlights and give him away. The car passed him, and he could hear it turn to the left. East, towards, Ryan. He raised his face from the dirt and saw the taillights moving away. There was something wet and cold stuck to his left cheek - a leaf. He reached for the radio.

XII

Ryan stood beside his truck, the hood up and the hazard lights flashing. Standing by the truck looking at the engine looked less suspicious than sitting in it. If a cop came by, he didn't especially want them looking in the back and seeing the carbine in back.

"I see you made your choice."

He looked up to find Joe standing there. "I did," he replied. "I'm sorry to disappoint you."

"I'm not really disappointed Ryan. Well, maybe a little. There was so much more we could have done together."

"I think we've done more than enough."

"You won't miss me? Not even a little? The truth now. After all this time, after all we've been through, I deserve it."

"Maybe a little."

"Maybe more than a little, Ryan. But no matter. You followed me as far as you could. But you could come no further. So it ends here. Promise that you won't forget me."

"God knows I'll try," Ryan said.

"You're a fool, Ryan. And so is anyone who follows you. But you know what Poe said. 'I have great faith in fools. Self confidence, my friends call it.'"

The radio on Ryan's belt spat a burst of static, followed by Mike's voice. "He's on the move. Ryan, he's coming your way"

"Copy," Ryan said. He slammed the hood shut, and looked around to find Joe gone. He leaped into the truck and started the engine.

XIII

Max slammed the hood shut on the Taurus, got in, shut the hazard lights off and started the engine. Theo was headed for Ryan's position. Ryan would head him off at the T intersection ahead. Her job now was to move in behind Theo and cut off his escape.

She picked up speed. She had to get in behind Theo, who had a head start on her. She saw the house up ahead, lights on over the front porch and the garage. She saw Mike, jogging along the side of the road, his rifle slung over his shoulder. She didn't stop. Seconds counted now. Mike could reach intersection on foot. If she stopped, Theo might reverse and come the other way before she could block him.

XIV

Ryan pulled his truck across Hobson Lane, and got out, his 1911 in hand. He moved around, and took cover behind the engine. Theo, if he hit the truck hard enough to move it out of the way, would pop the air bag in his face. He couldn't go left, on account of the two rows of stout rail fence, and a few trees. He couldn't go right on account of the woods.

He could see headlights approaching fast.

XV

Mike watched the Taurus fly past him, and felt the cold night air wash over him from its passing. He quickened his pace. A row of thick untrimmed hedge along the left side of the road partially masked another house. He could see its second story, white above the hedge. It was thirty-five or forty yards from the road. The occupants wouldn't have a clear view of what was about to happen, but they'd likely see or hear something. They had minutes, at most, once they cut Theo off, before the police were called. His damp jeans clung uncomfortably to his legs as he ran.

XVI

The Nissan slowed to a stop, coming to a halt just in front of Ryan's Ford. "Out of the car!" Ryan shouted. "Now! Hands in the air!"

The driver's side door began to open slowly. The rear passenger side door a couple of seconds later. As it did, a second vehicle skidded to a stop behind it, coming to halt just inches from the Nissan's rear bumper. Max got out, Shield in hand, and took cover behind the driver's side door.

Theo got slowly out of the drivers seat of the Nissan. Gwen got out of the back seat. Ryan Junior was not visible. Theo kept his hands raised head high, but Ryan could see that he had something in his right hand. He couldn't make out what. "Drop it!" he shouted."

"You know, Ryan, we've got to stop meeting like this."

"I said drop it, Theo. Step away from the car."

"Ryan?" Gwen cried out. "Is it really you?"

"I don't think so," Theo replied casually. "I thought you might try something, Ryan. So I came prepared. Gwen, take off your coat. Show your friends what you're wearing."

Gwen slowly opened her coat, and let it drop to the ground. She was wearing jeans and a colorful pullover sweater. Over the sweater was a dark, bulky vest. Ryan recognized it at once.

Gwen was wearing an explosive vest. And Theo was holding a cell phone. That, Ryan knew, would be the detonator.

"It's really me, Gwen," Ryan called out. "I'm here to take you home."

"You said he was dead," Gwen shouted at Theo.

"He's been dead a long time," Theo replied. "He's just an assassin now. He kills. Not to protect. But just because he likes killing. Ryan Hardy, FBI agent has been dead for a long time. Meet Ryan Hardy, serial killer."

"I did it to protect you, Gwen," Ryan pleaded. " I swear."

"You need to get out of the way, Ryan," Theo said calmly. "Now."

"No way in hell," Ryan replied. "We can stay here until the police arrive. You're not going anywhere."

"I said I'd take your future. If you like, I can destroy it right in front of you. I'm not going to prison, Ryan. You need to move, now. You put down the gun, and get out of my way. You too, Max. And Weston, wherever he is."

"How do I know you'll let her go?" Ryan asked.

"You don't," Theo said evenly. "But you know what I'll do if you don't move. So put the guns down, both of you. Now."

Ryan could see movement down the road. He could also see lights going on in the two story frame house to his right. The police would be on their way soon. And Theo wasn't bluffing. He'd detonate that vest the moment he saw them.

"OK, Ryan said. "You win."

"And I want so see Mike," Theo demanded. "Now. Because I know he's close."

XVII.

Mike unslung the rifle from his shoulder and flipped the lens protectors up on the red dot scope. He stayed low. There were thick hedges here on both sides of the road. He quicly crossed over to the right side of the road. The road was curving to the right. If Theo was ahead, he wanted to get as close as possible, using the curving hedge on the right for concealment. There was a house behind this hedge as well, but ir was well back from the road, and not really visible through the hedge and the trees beyond.

He could hear voices ahead. He cautiously rounded the curve and peered around the hedge at the scene in the intersection, lit by the blue white mercury streetlight on the corner.

Gwen and Theo standing close together, with Theo's Pathfinder partially obstructing his view of them. Max behind them, standing next to the Taurus. He could hear Ryan/s voice coming from behind the cab of his truck. He must be covering from behind the engine and out of sight. Theo holding something in his hand. A grenade? No. Gwen was stepping forward to be closer to Theo. She wasn't wearing a coat. She was wearing a thick dark vest.

 _Oh Jesus. A vest._

He raised the rifle to his shoulder, using the sling to steady his aim. He centered the red dot on Theo's head, and flipped the safety to fire.

XVIII

"Just wait," Ryan said. "Let me get this truck moved. Max, put down your gun." He tossed his pistol into grass by the side of the road, and began slowly walking around the front of the truck with his hands up.

"Where's Mike?" Theo asked. If he doesn't come out, she's dead."

"They killed him," Ryan replied.

"Mister Shiny over there told me that Max was the one that was dead," Theo snarled. "You guys need to get your lies straight."

Ryan shot a glance at Max. She had dropped her gun. The stricken look on her face told him that he was busted.

"He's got five seconds," Theo said. "And then you can all have a big debrief in hell and go over how you should have planned this better."

"Just wait," Ryan urged. "We're moving."

"I want to see Weston!" , Theo shouted. "Now!"

The sharp crack of the rifle came at the same instant as the bullet exited the front of Theo's face. A cloud of blood droplets appeared in front Theo's head, like a dark halo in the blue white mercury light. He pitched forward, fell to the ground, and lay still.

Gwen screamed. Ryan dove for the cell phone on the ground. Max rushed to the door of the Nissan, and looked inside. Ryan Junior was buckled securely in the infant seat. She turned to Gwen, who was frantically trying to get to her child. "No!" Max exclaimed. "You have to get away from him! We have to get this thing off you!" she began dragging Gwen away from the SUV. She could see Mike running towards them, carrying his rifle, his right hand clutching the hand guard.

Ryan found the cell phone lying on the ground. He carefully placed it on the dash of the truck so it wouldn't roll off. He turned to see Mike running up and grabbing Gwen by the arm. "Come on," he was saying. "Let's get away from Ryan Junior. It'll be Ok. We'll get this thing off you. Just stay calm. Ryan pulled a small LED flashlight out of his coat pocket and rushed to Gwen's side. "Make sure Ryan Junior is OK," he shouted to Max. And search that car."

More lights going on in the house nearby. He thought he heard a door opening. He and Mike hustled Gwen around and behind the truck, to shield little Ryan from the blast if the vest went off. "Ryan, where have you been?" Gwen asked. "I thought you were dead. He said you were dead.."

"I'm sorry," Ryan said. "I can explain. I was trying to protect you. From the violence. The insanity. It's like a curse I carry with me.. I just wanted you to keep you safe."

Mike had put the rifle on the ground and had his own flashlight out. He was examining the vest on Gwen. It was a dark olive green photojournalist's vest with numerous large deep pockets. All of the pockets were stuffed, and wires, red, blue, and green ran between them. The left front pocket had a cell phone peeking out. The screen was turned towards Gwen's body, and could not be seen. Wires ran from it to the nearest pockets. He front of the vest was closed with a zipper, but there were two loops of cloth, one on each side of the zipper, at chest height. Three wires ran through the loops, and back to the pocket holding the cell phone.

"We can't remove it without cutting wires," Mike observed.

"I've got tools in the truck," Ryan said. "Electronic tools included. I think I can disarm it."

"No way," Mike countered. "He'll have thought of that."

"Guys!" Max called. "I found a laptop!"

Mike pointed to the cell phone in the pocket of Gwen's vest. "It's controlled by a cell phone. He could detonate by placing a call. But I guarantee you there's a timer." Gwen gasped in horror at this. "He knew we might try something like this. The timer probably gave him enough time to get clear, but I don't know how long that was. We can't go playing red wire blue wire. This is a job for the bomb squad."

"We need a magnet," Ryan argued. We can fry the SIM card. Turn it off that way."

"That magnet is stuck to the door at Fairfax," Mike pointed out. "We gotta call someone. Now."

Max appeared, a carry case for a laptop in her hand. In the distance, they could hear a siren. "What's the plan?" she asked.

"Max, you take the laptops," Ryan ordered. "Take the truck, that rental car has a tracker. Get to the safe house. Break into that computer. Mike, get our son out of here. Get him to a hospital. Somebody call the bomb squad. I'll stay here, with Gwen. Move, both of you." They instantly sprang into motion.

XVIII

Dennis stood by Vlad's open passenger side door, checking on Chelsea. She sat watching in the rear view mirror as two police officers pushed the now cuffed attacker into the back seat of their patrol car. "Never let it be said that a date with me is boring," Dennis joked.

"Definitely not," she replied, laughing. "So how are you going to top this one? Are we going to a terrorist attack next time?"

"I'll check the latest intel and see if we know of any imminent threats. Would you rather do a hijacking or a mass shooting?"

"Definitely a hijacking. On a plane going some place exotic."

"On the other hand, we could just get on a plane to some place exotic and skip the hijacking."

"Some place like..."

He thought for a moment.

"What about New Orleans?"

"New Orleans is exotic?"

"I've read a lot of books and seen a lot of movies set there. Anne Rice set a lot of stories there. I'd like to see the place."

"Yeah, I guess New Orleans is kind of exotic. You were kind of awesome back there," she said.

"Kind of?" he asked, with mock outrage. "Kind of?"

"Excuse me, Agent Fuchida..." Dennis turned to find a uniformed cop with a blonde moustache.

"We found something you should look at."

The cop led Dennis to the man's car. "Look here," he said. He pointed to a light brown canvas bag, similar to a purse, hanging over the headrest on the passenger seat. Inside were zip ties meant for human restraint, and a small case containing a syringe and a small bottle of a clear, unlabeled liquid. A small canvas bag held antique surgical instruments, including knives, retractors, and a bone saw.

"OK," Dennis said. "At this point, we don't take any chances on screwing this case. My girl and I are leaving. I don't want any further contact with him. I don't want his lawyer saying I violated his civil rights. You see that he's Mirandized. I'm going to call my boss. One of our people is missing as of this afternoon, and we are taking nothing for granted.. The Bureau will want to interview him. Bag and tag this stuff. Make sure he gets his phone call."

"Right"

Dennis returned to Vlad and Chelsea. He must have been radiating some of the rage and alarm he was feeling, because when he leaned on the frame of the passenger side door, he found Chelsea looking up at him with concern bordering on fear. "What?" she asked.

"Are you working tomorrow?" he asked.

"No, why?"

"Good. I want you on the next plane to Charleston. I don't know who this guy is, but he is some kind of twisted. He was planning to butcher the two of us. You remember that case I mentioned? The X File?" She nodded. "Well, this could be related. I want you to go stay with your folks in Charleston for a couple of days. Pack light. Be on the red eye tonight."

"Why? What is this about?"

"I don't know. I'm going to ask you to trust me. I'm not trying to act like an international man of mystery. I'm worried about this. About you. That guy was serious. The date's over as of now. I've got work to do. I need to know who this guy was and what the hell he thought he was doing."

"I do trust you. But if it's OK, could I stay at your place for a couple of days instead?"

He paused for a moment, as if surprised by the question. "Yeah. You can stay. I'd like that."

He realized he was high on some combination of post combat adrenaline, relief that she was safe, and giddy joy at the way she was looking at him. He leaned down impulsively for a kiss. He drew away slightly, and leaned in again, running his hand through long blonde hair that hung down from the back of her toboggan. As he did, his phone emitted a shrill ringtone.

"Hold that thought," he said, and stood up straight, fishing his phone out of his coat pocket. "Dennis Fuchida".

"Dennis, it's Max. Hope I'm not calling at a bad time."

"Max? Where the hell are you?"

"I'm in kind of a jam," she said, "and I need your help."

XIX

Ryan desperately wanted to put his arms around Gwen, but didn't dare. He held her right hand in both of his. They stood by the roadside, in the blue white pool of the streetlight. The sound of the truck was fading into the distance as the sirens came closer. Ryan kept Gwen's back to Theo's dead body in the middle of the road, dark blood spreading on the pavement from his head wound.

"I'll stay here with you," he assured her. "I am so sorry for all of this. I tried. I'm sorry I wasn't there. I love you. I wanted more than anything to be with you. To raise our son. But I was afraid for you to be near me. Theo was working with these people. People like him. They threatened you. They threatened our baby. I had to protect you, so I disappeared. I wanted you to be far away from all of it. The madness that follows me around."

She started to turn her head back, to look in the direction Mike had gone with Ryan Junior. But it was also in the direction Theo's corpse. Ryan quickly reached up with his left hand, and gently but firmly put it on her right cheek, turning her face away from the dead body in the road. "Don't look at it," he urged. "Our son is safe. They'll take care of him. And I'll be here with you. Whatever happens, we face it together."

She looked into his face, her eyes damp with tears, and she put both of her hands into his. "How long have we got?" she asked.

"We have the rest of our lives."

Musical Interlude - End In Tears by The Dreaming

From Karlino's - Shallow Graves by The 69 Eyes

Dennis' disarm technique can be seen in a YouTube video called

Tutorial Krav Maga Defenses Against Knife Attacks

*I've used Bing Maps extensively while writing Terudom. When I began writing this chapter, I used it to scope out the area north of New York City. I was looking for some real world terrain where the events could plausibly take place. In the course of doing so, I stumbled across the bridge where Ryan Hardy fell into the river.

It's called the New Croton River Dam, and it's located on the Croton River, just north of where the Croton empties into the Hudson. It's not really as new as all that. Construction of the dam began in 1892 and was completed in 1902. It's called new because it replaced an older dam built in the mid 19th Century It's quite a scenic area. The Croton Dam Plaza, which is accessed by the bridge where Ryan fell into the river is open to the public. One end of the road on that bridge leads to highway 129, but the other end leads to a circular looping road - it's not actually a through street. The reservoir is part of New York City's municipal water supply system.. If you want to see it on a map, or in aerial view, the GPS coordinates are 41.227323 -73.857429, give or take a few decimal points.

I suspect that the area around the dam was used for location filming for a number of scenes in the series finale. I used the area because the road net shows a lot of meandering roads through wooded terrain that don't immediately connect to any major highway. There are also quite a few dead end roads, some of which extend for a considerable distance. All of this suited my purposes. It just also happens to be near the bridge. But then the showrunners were drawn to the area for the same reasons I was.

The nearest town of any appreciable size is Croton-on-Hudson, which is reached by highway 129. South of the dam, and crossing 129 is the right of way for some high voltage power lines. Highway 129 runs right next to the Croton River for some distance south of the bridge. Ryan Hardy probably got a ride from whomever he called that night along that stretch of 129, south of the bridge but at or just north of that right of way. It's far enough from the bridge that he likely wouldn't have been spotted, it would have been easy for his contact to find, and it wouldn't have required Ryan to walk too far on a cold night while soaked to the skin.. Since their paths didn't cross again that night, Theo must have taken a different route out of the area.

It's just a coincidence that I picked a hideout for Theo that happens to be near the bridge, so I had the same coincidence happen in the story.

** Flash bangs are another term for stun grenades. These are explosive devices designed to be non lethal. They produce a blinding flash and intensely loud bang to disorient an enemy without causing permanent harm. They are explosive devices, however, and as such they are not guaranteed harmless. They can sometimes cause serious injury or death, despite the user's best intentions. They can also occasionally start fires. They can, despite these potential hazards, also be the safest course available. The technology of nonlethal weapons probably has a long way to go.

*** There are laws against spoofing call ID, but it can be done pretty easily, because America's phone system is easier to hack than most. The telemarketing and debt collection industries swing a big stick politically, and so we continue to tolerate a vulnerability that can be (And already has been) used against us. I've seen a report of robocalls being used to phone in bomb threats to schools. See the Global Guerillas blog by John Robb, a former Air Force officer, for a discussion of how the vulnerability of our phone system to hacking could be used to disrupt the 2016 Presidential election and just maybe tip the country into unrest, or even civil war.

**** Glocks come in three different sizes. Full size, like the Model 17, which is what is what Mike Weston carried, and what Max carried in S3. They're really meant for open carry by uniformed cops or soldiers. They can be concealed with some difficulty. Next down come the compact Glocks, like the Model 19 Ryan carried in S1. Other characters used the 19 as well, including Gina Mendez. These have a slightly shorter barrel and grip to make them handier and easier to conceal. The tradeoff is that with the shorter grip, the magazine holds less ammunition. Finally, there are the subcompacts, which have a drastically shortened barrel and grip. These are collectively called Baby Glocks. They hold even less ammunition than the compacts,but being quite small they are easily concealed. Law enforcement, including the FBI, often use them as backup guns. Private citizens carrying for self defense may choose them as primary guns because of their light weight and ease of concealment, which makes them convenient to carry. Because

there's not a lot to hang on to, the recoil can be pretty snappy, especially with a hard kicking round like the .40 caliber Dennis uses.

I issued Dennis a .40 caliber just to make him different. As mentioned way back in Chapter 1, the FBI uses .40 S&W in real life. Or did. As of November of last year, the FBI announced it was, after about twenty years, switching back to 9mm.

5


	20. Chapter 20 - The Abyss

Disclaimer: It's fanfic, meaning I don't own anything or make any money off of it. It's a labor of love. Please don't sue me.

Welcome to Chapter 19 Of Terudom. Like all the others, this chapter is rated T. Apart from some language, this would likely pass muster on an episode of The Following. If you're old enough to watch The Following, you're old enough to read this. But as always, the standard disclaimers apply. It's The Following, so expect dark themes, violence, and general unpleasantness.

And don't try anything you read here at home.

If everything goes the way I want it to go, the next update is the last one. It may take the form of more than one chapter at once.

Chapter 20 - The Abyss

It had all happened so fast. When she'd woke up next to Derek this morning, she'd been on top of the world. Sarah was dead, her position on the Committee was secure, and despite the setback at Fairfax, she was sure she could track down Ryan Hardy and his whole crew. Derek had wanted her to go to Dubai. She would never have done it, but the fact that he wanted to meant that he wanted to be with her, and she could still count on his help.

She had felt badly about killing him. She'd liked him. He'd been funny. He'd been dangerous, unpredictable and a bit volatile as well. Had she loved him? No, she decided.

But maybe she could have.

That didn't matter now. If she'd been able to kill Ryan Hardy in North Carolina, If Max Hardy hadn't made monkeys out of an FBI surveillance team, if Ryan and Mike hadn't rescued Max, if Derek had just followed orders for once, if that fool Galen had just been more careful, if Dennis Fuchida hadn't got on to Galen's treachery, if Theo hadn't blown everything up by grabbing Gwen Carter, if Ryan hadn't intervened at the motel when she finally caught up with Coleman and Max ...So many ifs, but in the end, it all added up to a perfect storm. Her whole team had died in that shootout, and had left behind physical evidence that couldn't be cleaned up or covered up.

Her options were limited. She could try to convince the Committee that Derek had been working for Theo, or should have known that Coleman was. If she couldn't, she had to make a run for it. Either would be tricky, and she had to prepare for both. She'd called her contact, and given him a heavily edited version of what had happened at the motel. If she'd been able to capture or kill Ryan's people, or at least avoid leaving all those bodies behind, that might have been enough. If hers was the only story told afterwards, the Chairman might accept it, even if he knew that story was mostly fiction. People will often accept a lie if the truth is sufficiently unpleasant. But that shootout was going to be investigated, and there was no way of knowing where it would all end. Worse, Max Hardy had Coleman's computer, and whatever was on it she'd eventually find. She had to assume that the encryption would slow Max down, but it wouldn't stop her.

So she had to prepare for the worst, and that meant preparing to flee the country. The Organization had a long arm. It had infiltrated, corrupted, and weaponized the government's national security apparatus. She'd used that against Max Hardy. Now it would be used against her. The first problem, then, was to become someone else.

After crossing the Brooklyn Bridge into Manhattan she began searching for her exit. She turned onto a narrow road that paralleled FDR drive, almost within sight of the East River. Ahead was a six story blocky gray rectangular building. A red stripe of an advertising sign ran down its length about halfway up. Riverside Self Storage. She stored a vehicle and bags here for emergencies. She could exchange her vehicle for the dark gray Q50 she kept for bugout. Inside that car were bags containing weapons, cash, extra clothes, and other things she'd need to make her escape.

II

The quickest way to get Ryan Junior to a hospital was by ambulance. That also meant police, but that didn't matter now. Mike had known that sooner or later he was going to have to face the music with the Bureau. The problem was that calling the bomb squad meant that Ryan was going to have to face some music of his own. He had fake ID, Mike was sure, but while that might see him through a traffic stop, this was different. When the police saw that vest, when they realized that this was the same Gwen Carter who had been abducted in Manhattan, Ryan wasn't going anywhere until they had an explanation that satisfied them. Ryan had known this, of course, when he ordered Mike and Max to call the bomb squad. That was when Mike realized that Ryan had changed. Before, he could have killed Theo and still used the bracelets Theo had provided to get into the House and bring hell to the Organization. Whatever happened now, the one man war was over.

But before Ryan or anyone could plan for the long term future, they had to live through this night. That meant dealing with the police, and the police, when they heard the words "shots fired" were going to show up ready to empty their magazines. He drove a quarter of a mile down the road in the direction of the dam. Emergency vehicles, he thought, were likely to come from that direction, and it was opposite from the direction Max had taken. He pulled out his pistol, locked the slide back, letting the round in the chamber fall to the floorboard, and dropped out the magazine. He put the now empty gun and magazine on the dashboard, turned on the hazard lights, and got out of the car, leaving the engine running so that the heater could run and keep the tiny infant in back warm. He walked about ten yards from the car, and stood with his hands in the air as the sirens approached. If the police panicked and opened fire, if they let fly with a hail of badly aimed bullets, he wanted some distance between himself and Ryan Junior. *

He could see blue lights approaching. They braked to a stop, pulling halfway onto the narrow shoulder of the road. Both doors opened. He couldn't see the officers clearly, because of the headlights and blue lights in his eyes.

"Get on the fucking ground! Face down! Hands behind your back!"

He moved quickly to comply. "There's a baby in the car! Call the paramedics! He needs to be checked out!"

Footsteps approaching. A big, heavy cop was kneeling down, using his weight to pin Mike's legs while he cuffed Mike's hands behind his back. "Call the paramedics, please! There's a baby.."

"Shut the fuck up!" the cop shouted.

"He was kidnapped, his mother..."

The cop shoved Mike's face into the ground. "I said shut your fucking mouth!" He began frisking Mike.

He heard a car door open, and he heard the sound of Ryan Junior crying. "He's right" A woman's voice. "There's a kid." She walked over to where Mike was pinned. He could see only her feet approaching. "Let him up"

The male cop pulled Mike up roughly by the collar until he could manage a sitting position. Being pulled by the collar didn't really help Mike get out of his prone, face down position. It just helped the cop prove he was an asshole.

"What happened?" the woman asked. "We got a report of a shooter." He found himself looking at a black woman with her hair pulled back in a bun and Corporal's stripes on her sleeve.

"I'm the shooter," Mike explained. "This baby was kidnaped along with his mother. I shot the kidnaper. My name is Mike Weston. I'm an FBI agent. I'm not carrying creds. Call the Manhattan field office, they'll vouch for me. His mother is up the road. There's a guy with her. He's a friendly. She's been wired to an explosive vest. We need the bomb squad. And you have keep people away from the scene."

"I'll get the paramedics," the policewoman replied. "But we're keeping the cuffs on until we can verify who you are."

III

Dennis paced like an animal in a cage, his phone pressed against his ear, glancing periodically at Chelsea sitting in Vlad's passenger seat. "C'mon cmon," he repeated, even though it had only been a few seconds.

" Command Center, Amy Klesko."

"Amy, it's Dennis. I just got a call from Max Hardy. Is Shelby still there?"

"From Max? Shelby's not here. He left hours ago."

"OK, listen. Max called. She's located Gwen Carter. She and Mike have pulled off a rescue. The hostage taker is dead, but Doctor Carter has been wired up to a suicide vest. Max thinks it may be on a timer. The police will be on scene in a matter of minutes, if they're not there already, but they need EOD** and they need it five minutes ago. Call Shelby. And while you're at it, tell him someone just tried to kill me, and I think it's related."

"Stand by."

More seconds stretching to minutes that seemed like hours. More pacing. "Fuchida," came Shelby's voice. "Where are you?"

"A parking deck over near Karlino's. Listen, I've got an address near Woodybrook. That's where Gwen Carter is. She's alive, but maybe not for much longer."

"Give me the address." Dennis read off the location Max had given him. "OK. I'll scramble HRT. Hold for a minute, we're not done. "

More minutes. More pacing. "I'm back," Shelby said. I've got guys on the way. What's this about someone trying to kill you?"

"I was out with my girlfriend this evening. Someone tried to do the both of us in a parking deck. Dude was just waiting for us show up. He had what looks like antique surgical tools. Saws and shit. He was in a car, waiting, and he had my car staked out."

"There's a lot of sickos in this town. How do you know he was dialed in on you?"

"Has Galen turned up? I didn't think so. Because someone had him killed. Because if he was taken alive he could have told us who killed that witness the task force was interested in, and who really opened that bank account in the Caymans. He could have told us who framed Max, and who kidnaped Ryan Hardy's girlfriend, and why. On second thought, scratch that. I know why. Because Ryan Hardy is alive, and all of this somehow links back to his last case. Maybe Galen could even have told us who really killed Lisa Campbell. They killed Galen because he could have talked, and they took a shot at me because I was asking questions about him."

He stopped to rein himself in, aware that he was getting loud enough for Chelsea to overhear him. There was silence on the phone. _Now you've gone and done it._

"I don't know what the hell we're dealing with here," Shelby answered, "but I'm pretty sure it ain't the walking dead. Get your ass to LaGuardia. I'm sending a chopper. I want you up there in Woodybrook ASAP. I'll have someone interview this wannabe surgeon, just in case, but I doubt this creep has anything to do with Galen, the Hardys, or Gwen Carter. Get moving."

"Yes sir."

Dennis hung up and turned to Chelsea. "I gotta go. Not exactly how I saw the evening ending."

"Well at least it wasn't boring. Where do you want me to go? My place, your place, or my Mom's place?"

He thought for a moment, and reached into his pocket for his key chain. "My place. It's probably safe for you to go home, but I want to get up there and see what this is about first."

"So are you going to meet the Cigarette Smoking Man?"

"I might just."

IV

The C-37A** climbed away from Andrews Air Force Base and into the night sky. Aboard, the Chairman sat buckled into his seat, along with the four bodyguards who accompanied him. These men weren't government employees, nor were they US military. They were the Chairman's private bodyguards. He didn't rate Secret Service protection, but didn't really need it either. He was able to provide people for his own security, and they were far more than just bodyguards.

Like the man who sat next to him. These men worked for the Organization, but they hadn't been provided by Eliza. Experience had taught him the folly of trusting armed men to be near him when he wasn't sure of their loyalties. Eliza's hired soldiers were good, but they were Eliza's hired soldiers. He preferred to use his own. He normally didn't allow a US military protective detail, but might allow one when his duties took him to a war zone, just to keep these men relatively inconspicious.

The plane completed its climb, and the Chairman unbuckled his seat belt. He extended the spacious desktop that disappeared into a slot in the cabin wall during takeoff and landing. His chief of security ,sitting across the aisle from him, rose and removed his briefcase from the overhead bin. He handed it to the Chairman. "Thank you, Raleigh." That wasn't the man's real name. He'd changed it long ago, or rather the Chairman had arranged to have it changed legally. Raleigh spoke flawless English and could pass for American, but his former career included a wide range of war crimes. A young boy, a baker's son, had once brought him a loaf of bread when he'd been on peacekeeping duty in some Third World hellhole. He'd taken the bread, and then shot the boy in front of the rest of his squad. When someone had asked him why, he'd explained that he'd just cleaned his rifle, and wanted to do a function check.

On one of his past jobs, he'd crossed paths with the Chairman, who had recognized him for what he was - a serial killer who hid in plain sight. Because of his record, he couldn't legally come to America. The Chairman had arranged his visa. Raleigh had been declared to be useful as an intelligence source, and he had further been found to be in danger of persecution and reprisals. He was given a new identity, but the whole arrangement could be revoked if he got into trouble. He could be deported, extradited, or just found floating in the harbor.

In short, the Chairman owned Raleigh's ass, and from time to time he let Raleigh off the leash.

The Chairman opened the briefcase and took out the folder he had been discussing with the Colonel earlier in the evening. "Thank you Raleigh, that'll be all."

Raleigh moved to the front of the plane, and sat down on the couch along the wall beside Gilbert, another of his private security detail. Two other men sat in chairs that faced each other along the side of the cabin opposite the couch. They were turning the two small TVs that were recessed into the cabin wall on their hinges to face their chairs. A blonde Airman First Class who looked barely old enough to drink was coming through the door at the front of the cabin. She would handle food preparation in the galley. He caught Raleigh staring intently at her after she walked past.

His Blackberry began playing its electronic tune. His contact. "Clayton Alford," he answered.

"Have you seen the news?"

"No."

"They're reporting some sort of hostage standoff in upstate New York. Woodybrook, wherever that is. Details on the news are sketchy. My sources tell me that the FBI has located Doctor Carter, and that Dan Shelby had dispatched an EOD team. That's all we have right now."

"What's your source?"

"JJ Cantrell. He's acting head of the Terudom task force. I called him."

"Is Cantrell one of ours?"

"No. He's aware that we were planning to have Max Hardy moved to a black site, but as far as I know he raised no objections and has said nothing."

"And Mister Shelby?" the Chairman asked. "Will he be helpful to us?"

"Doubtful. I've never met him, but I know him by reputation. He knew Ryan Hardy personally. I expect that he may prove difficult."

"Any word on Eliza?"

"Not yet," his contact replied. "We have few assets in place at the moment. Eliza's operations in New York are in disarray. She's on the no fly list, but there are many ways she could leave the country. And we can't even tell the FBI that we're looking for her, or why. I'm doing what I can, but we're carrying a handicap."

"I'm bringing some men with me. They can assist. I'll meet with Mister Shelby. Hopefully he'll listen to reason."

V

Mike sat cuffed in the back of the patrol car, looking up the road, wishing he could see what was happening. More police had arrived, and an ambulance had whisked Ryan Junior away. The police weren't letting him anywhere near Gwen. He wanted to tell her that her child was safe. He wondered what Ryan was telling them. He hadn't seen Ryan, so maybe they'd let him stay with Gwen. More likely they were holding Ryan separately for when they were questioned later.

The long wait meant that they had likely called the Bureau and been told to hold him until someone came to pick him up. He wondered about Max. Had she made it to the safe house? Was she OK? He could feel fatigue starting to weigh him down. Max, wherever she was, must be running on empty.

The black woman walked up to the patrol car and opened the back door. "We called the Bureau," she said. "They say you're on suspension and to hold you until they get here. And they don't know nothing about this other guy." She closed he door and walked off.

Mike nodded wordlessly. He'd already guessed. He wondered if Theo had planned this all along. It was win win for him. If Ryan went to the House, then Eliza was dead, Ryan would have abandoned his family and friends, and would be, as Theo had put it, beyond redemption. Big win for Theo. If he tried to rescue Gwen and failed, Gwen was dead, and so was Ryan, whether he survived or not. Big win for Theo. If he tried to rescue Gwen and succeeded, he was faced with the vest. It would go off when the timer ran out, or when Ryan tried to disarm it. If he called the Bomb Squad, with their specialized equipment, he would end up busted. Big win for Theo.

 _Theo, I think you were smarter than all of us._

He could hear a chopper approaching, a large military chopper from the sound of it. On one side of the road was a broad expanse of well manicured yard. Beyond it were woods that sheltered what was doubtless a large, expensive, and elegant home. Mike could see its lights through the bare trees. On the other side of the road were dense woods broken by the entrance to a driveway which probably led to an even larger, more expensive, and more elegant home. A pole on that side of the road held up power lines. Several cops, including the two who had cuffed him, walked onto the grass and tossed road flares. They were, Mike realized, marking a landing zone. A couple of police vans were pulling up on the opposite side of the road.

He recognized the black chopper descending onto the yard as a UH-60 Blackhawk****. It touched down, and began disgorging an HRT team. He saw that two of the agents were wearing heavy protective suits with high collars made of kevlar that extended up around their ears. They were carrying enclosed helmets with armored polycarbonate face shields that looked like space helmets. The overall effect made them look like astronauts. These, he realized, were the EOD team.

The Blackhawk lifted off, and the team began piling into the SWAT vans, which headed towards the intersection. Mike sat there, watching them go, worrying about Gwen and going over a list of felonies he could be charged with.

A second chopper, smaller by the sound of it, was approaching. He watched as a black Bell 407 with FBI painted on the side in white letters set down in the yard. A man in a raid jacket was getting out and walking towards a knot of police officers standing by the road where the SWAT vans had been. The man kept his head down against the blast of the rotor, but as the chopper lifted off again, the man raised his head, and Mike recognized him.

Dennis.

He spoke to one of the cops, a heavyset man with olive skin, dark hair and a moustache wearing a raid jacket. The cop was pointing in Mike's direction, and Dennis was nodding. Then Dennis, the guy in the raid jacket, and the two cops who had detained Mike earlier started walking towards the car.

Raid Jacket opened the door. "Is that him?" he asked Dennis.

"Yeah, that's him," Dennis replied. "Let him go."

"But they said hold him," Raid Jacket protested. "They said he was suspended."

"They said hold him until the Bureau arrived. Well, the Bureau has arrived, and the Bureau is now in charge. Let him go, he's mine."

"What the fuck is this?" Raid Jacket demanded.

"What this is is classified. You did your job. You called us and you held him. Now he's mine. The other guy, too."

"What are these guys? Undercover?"

"Something like that. Cuffs off. Now."

Raid Jacket snorted with disgust. "You heard the man," he said to the black policewoman.

She released Mike from the cuffs. He stood, finding as he did that he was cramped and tired. He was cold, too. The dampness from the ground had soaked into his jeans, and they clung to his skin.

The cop who had cuffed Mike stepped forward, a worried look on his face. "Sorry I roughed you up pal. Procedure."

Mike stared at him for a moment before answering. "Because, ya know, it just wouldn't be official if there weren't bruises involved." He turned without waiting for a reply and followed Dennis and Raid Jacket. He caught up with them, and he and Dennis walked behind the dark haired cop. As they walked, Dennis leaned towards Mike. "Dude, you owe me big time for this," he muttered.

They found Ryan cuffed and fuming in a SWAT van parked on the shoulder, in front of a curve in the road just before the intersection where they had left Gwen. He sat hunched over, fury clouding his face. He turned and looked as they approached, and his anger turned to surprise. "This him?" the detective asked.

"That's him," Dennis replied. "Turn him loose."

"It's cool," Mike said, facing Ryan. The last thing he wanted now was a confrontation between Ryan and the cops.

A uniformed cop removed Ryan's cuffs. As soon as they were off, he practically sprang from the van. "Where is she?" He demanded. He turned and started towards the intersection. Mike grabbed him by the arm and pulled him back.

"Whoa. EOD's up there. They're probably working on it now. Wait."

Ryan ignored him and tried to turn and continue up the road. Mike grabbed him by the left bicep and pulled hard, turning him round, grabbing him by the upper arms and staring him in the face, "Not. Now."

Dennis pointed up the road. "There she is!"

Ryan turned and looked Walking towards them, just becoming visible around a hedge, was one of the EOD specialists Mike had seen earlier, two HRT agents, and Gwen. He could see that the vest was gone. "Ryan!" she called, seeing him. She broke away from the FBI agents and she and Ryan ran towards each other. They met halfway, and he caught her in his arms. Two paramedics standing next to an ambulance parked on the shoulder opposite the SWAT van produced a Gurney, unfolded it, and began wheeling it towards Gwen. Mike and Dennis trotted alongside the paramedics. Gwen, her face streaked with tears looked around at the agents and paramedics. "Where's my baby? Is my baby all right?"

"He's fine," Mike assured her. "They took him to a hospital."

"Where?" she asked.

Mike looked at one of the paramedics. "Nyack," the paramedic answered. "That's where we're taking you."

"I'm riding with her," Ryan stated.

The paramedic glanced at Dennis and Mike. Mike nodded, and they began putting Gwen on to the Gurney for the trip. They wheeled Gwen to the ambulance, Ryan at her side. As they were loading her into the back, Ryan looked at Dennis, as if noticing him for the first time. Dennis smiled, and extended his hand.

"Ryan Hardy I presume."

Ryan hesitated a moment. "That's me" he said, and shook Dennis' hand.

"Dennis Fuchida. It's good to finally meet you."

"We're ready," said one of the paramedics. Ryan climbed into the back of the ambulance.

"We'll meet you at the hospital," Mike promised, as the doors closed.

The ambulance pulled away, and its lights began to flash. "We need some wheels," Dennis observed.

Mike pointed in the direction they had come from. "I've got a car back there."

"I want to talk to the EOD team before we leave," Dennis said.

"Sure."

They found the team by the two SWAT vans that were parked nearby. One of them, a woman with wavy dark blonde hair pulled back in a ponytail held up a cell phone like it was a trophy. "You called us?" she asked Mike.

"I was there when you were called," he replied. "We didn't think we could disarm it."

"You took a tough decision waiting for us. But it was the right one. You would have been dead right there. We were able to fritz the hard drive on this thing with a magnet. If you'd gone cutting wires..." She let the thought trail off. "I learned EOD in the Navy. Two tours in Afghanistan. I saw too damn many of those things over there. Never thought I'd be seeing one here."

"Great job," Dennis said. "What about the explosive? What did he use?"

"It looks like RDX. We're gonna blow this thing in place."*****

"I'd like to stick around for that," Dennis answered, "But I have to interview Ms Carter." He turned to Mike. "Where are you parked?"

"Over there."

When they were almost to the rental car Dennis stopped for a moment. "Where's Max?" he asked in a low tone of voice. "Is she OK?"

" We'll talk on the way to the hospital."

VI

Max lay in darkness and silence, her hands bound behind her, her legs folded up in an almost fetal position. She wanted to stretch them out, but the steel bars were in the way. Her head had no support as she lay on the hard steel floor of the cage, and her neck was cramped and sore. She was wracked by muscle spasms that sometimes sent her feet convulsively pushing against the unyielding bars.

The heat seemed stifling. Was it really that hot in here? The room had seemed cold when she'd first regained consciousness in the cage. Now it seemed like a hundred degrees. Was it the hood that made it so hard to breathe? Had they turned the room into a sauna? Or was it the drugs they had pumped into her veins?

No light came through the hood. The inside of it seemed damp against her face. Some combination of sweat and tears. She stewed in a mixture of fear and shame. She had failed everyone she loved, and left Gwen and her infant son defenseless. Those people had watched as she was reduced to a helpless, shuddering wreck. Her breath was becoming more labored. Panic gripped her at the realization that she was starting to suffocate, and they were just going let it happen. They were going to let her die in an animal cage. She began thrashing against her bonds, trying to break free, to get attention to her plight...

She sat bolt upright, looking frantically around the room, whimpering with fear. She was sitting at the kitchen table in Ryan's safe house, facing her open laptop. Theo's hard drive, which she had removed , sat on the table plugged up to a SATA adapter cable that connected to her computer, and a USB power cable plugged into the wall. Coleman's laptop sat open on the same table, along with the computer toolkit she had found in Ryan's truck. She sat there for a moment, getting her bearings, wondering if she'd screamed.

What had happened? She'd been staring at the screen of her laptop. She had removed the hard drive from Theo's laptop and connected it to hers. She'd been studying the display when she had closed her eyes for a moment to rest them. She had fallen asleep in the chair, her head slumped forward, and had dreamed of the cage. They were counting on her, and she was asleep. She couldn't sleep. Would it be like this every time she fell asleep? Would she always back in that cage? In that chair?

How long had she been asleep? An hour by her computer clock. She rose, and went to the bathroom, where she splashed cold water on her face. She thought about another cup of coffee. No, that might be part of the problem now. She looked at the pale woman with the reddened eyes in the mirror. _Mike warned you about this. He was right._

She returned to the living room and sat back down in front of her laptop. _Focus, dammit_. She looked at the screen. Theo's hard drive appeared now as a removable device designated as the E drive. Lots of encrypted files on E drive. Time to start breaking into those. If she could.

 _And if I can't?_

VII

"I need to ship a package."

The parking deck was in light use at the moment. Eliza stood by the concrete wall and looked around her yet again, checking for surveillance. In her left hand was a nylon carrying case for a laptop. Her right hand was near her open coat, ready to sweep it aside and draw the Makarov she carried. Below, a police car sped past, its siren Doppler shifting down, its blue lights flashing.

"What are you shipping and where?" the man standing next to her asked.

She turned to face him squarely. He was a pale, moon faced man with thinning brown hair going gray and pulled back in a short ponytail. "I'm shipping myself. And it needs to be soon. Tonight."

"Destination and method of shipping."

"Istanbul, and it will be by Conex container."

"Don't tell me you haven't got papers."

"I've got papers, but I don't know if the papers are good." She paused, waiting for a response, and realized that he was going to demand an explanation. "I've had a beef with my own organization. You know they've got government contacts. The only way I'm going out by plane is airfreight, and right now, I'm not even risking that. The airports are watched. But my company has contractors all over the world. So they have a supply chain. There's a shipment going out tonight, I've checked. The Oceanic Azure is carrying cargo to Istanbul, including a shipment that's going to supply one of our operations in the Middle East. The shipment is already paid for and it's free and clear to depart. All I need you to do is provide a Conex container, doctor the manifest so there's one more container in the shipment, and seal me in."

"You're awfully trusting of your own people, if your own organization is hunting you."

"My ZR people are reliable. I pay them enough. Look, I'm running out of time. Are you going to help me?"

"I've arranged travel packages for you in the past. This is the first time it's for you personally, and I think there's a lot of heat on you. The risk affects the price."

"I'll get you the money."

"I haven't forgotten that doctor friend of yours. You didn't tell me he came trailing a three ring circus. He practically led the FBI to my door. Shots fired, an FBI agent beaten nearly to death..."

"I didn't make the arrangements," she interrupted. "I just made the referral."

"People coming in are just victims. Grist for your operations. People going out are trouble. Someone is looking for them."

"The front money is in the case. The rest when you seal me in."

"All right, then. Tonight."

VIII

They had shown Gwen to an exam room, and established that she and her child were unhurt. Ryan and Gwen were waiting for the hospital to process whatever paperwork was involved in her release, and starting to wonder if the red tape would take longer than the kidnaping itself. Ryan stood by his son's crib, Gwen at his side, looking at the tiny stranger he had helped bring into the world, fought so hard to protect, and never once seen.

"I always wondered what he looked like," he murmured. "I'd lie awake at night sometimes, imagining. I was afraid I'd die, never having seen him. And no one would ever know. There'd be nothing but an empty grave."

"Did you ever visit your own grave?" she asked.

"No."

"It has a really fitting epitaph. Something Max picked out. 'Until we meet again'".

He turned and faced Gwen. "I didn't want any of this to happen. I wanted to stay dead. Stay far away, until one day, when it was safe. But the time passed, and I realized that even if I won, even if somehow I beat them, so much time would have passed. If I came home, there would be no picking up where I left off. I could never come home. I could never see my son."

"Well now that you've finally seen him, do you want to hold him?"

He stared for a moment, trying to process what he's just heard. "Go ahead," she smiled. "Time you two got acquainted." She picked him up, held him in her arms, and offered him to Ryan. "Ryan," she said to the infant, "this is your Daddy."

Ryan carefully took his son, and held him up, pressing his cheek against the top of the tiny bald head. Ryan Junior reached up, grasped his father's shirt in his left hand, and rested his head on Ryan's chest. "He recognizes you," Gwen smiled.

"I think he does." Ryan kissed his son and held him up to look him in the face. "Hey there, Ryan. I'm sorry I'm so late. But I'm finally here. Yes I am." He shifted Ryan around until he was cradled in his arms, Ryan Junior's head resting on his arm. "I've missed so much. But I'm finally home."

"Are you?"

He looked up and faced Gwen.

"Is it safe to go home now?" she asked. "Are you home? Am I going home? Can any of us go home? Ever?"

"I don't know," he answered. "I really don't."

"Well, if you don't know, then I guess the answer is that we're not safe."

She reached out and took Ryan from his father's arms, and laid him in his crib.

"It's not safe, is it?" She asked again.

"There's more of them still out there. I wasn't planning to come back until I'd dealt with all of them, but..."

"Dealt with them?" she asked. "Killed then you mean."

"I was trying to protect you," he protested. "I stayed away so you wouldn't be a target, but things got out of control..."

She held up her hand to silence him. "Things were never in control. And that was the problem."

"I did what I did so the two of you would be safe. I..."

"Ryan," she said sharply. "That's the problem. Not just what you did, but that you can't say what you did. Theo told me you were dead. I'm not sure now if he really was lying or if he meant that figuratively. He told me that he wanted Max and Mike to do something for him. He wouldn't tell me what. He said I'd have to ask them, and he didn't seem to think that anyone would ever tell me the truth."

"If we kept things from you it was to protect you."

"Well it doesn't seem to have worked all that well. Ryan, I want our son to have a father. I don't know if we can put things back together again, but I know this. Theo was right about one thing. I accepted less than the truth. And that ends, here and now. If we're to have a future together, then there's no more secrets. You're going to tell me everything that happened. Everything you did. There's no more hiding he truth. I deserved to know that my baby and I were in danger. You made a decision that affected all of us, and you never consulted any of us. It's one thing to protect us from a threat. But you can't protect us from the truth. I love you, Ryan. And I want us to be together. But if you can't be honest with me, then it'll be me who disappears. Forever."

He nodded wordlessly. "You're right. I'll tell you the whole story. All of it. I warn you it's a long one. And ugly. I won't be able to cover all of it tonight. But you'll hear everything. Even if it means that you don't want to be with me after you hear it."

She put her arms around him and pressed her face into his shoulder. "We're starting over," he promised, as he held her close. "I won't keep anything from you, ever." He kissed her, and when they broke it off, a thought occurred to him. He looked into her eyes, aware a smile was spreading across his face.

"What?" she asked.

"I won't keep anything from you. But I don't think I'm telling Max and Mike that we took relationship advice from Theo."

IX

The C-37A was starting it's approach to JFK. The Chairman closed up his briefcase and handed it to Raleigh, who locked it in the overhead compartment while the Chairman slid his desktop back into the recessed slot in the cabin wall. Raleigh sat down across the aisle and bucked himself in.

The Chairman looked around carefully. The enlisted woman had closed up the galley, and the crew has all refurned to the crew cabin. "I've arranged a car for you when we land," the Chairman informed him. "I want you out looking for any sign of Eliza. She may try to flee the country. If so, it's unlikely she'll go by plane. She'll have one or more passports, but she's on the watch list, and I don;t think she'll risk a commercial flight."

"She might risk a cargo flight," Raleigh suggested.

"She might," the Chairman agreed. "Those are easier to board. We're short of manpower, but I do have a few men watching the freight terminals at the local airports. Not nearly enough to cast an airtight net, but enough to give us a chance. I want you out shaking doors. She has an extensive list of contacts. We don't know them all, of course. But in the course of her duties she made contacts who could move people or goods. We have to look at those."

"She could simply drive across the border," Raleigh observed glumly.

"I know. I'll try to get us some extra help. The FBI could help us. We need to hunt down Ryan Hardy and his people as well. I'll set up a meeting with Mister Shelby. He may be willing to assist, if I can appeal to his concern for the national security. So you search for Eliza, and I'll see what can done with Mister Shelby. We'll just have to play it by ear."

X

Dennis and Mike sat on a couch in a waiting room down the hall from Gwen and Ryan. On the way to the hospital, Mike had given Dennis a short version of what had happened since he and Max had set out for North Carolina.

"You look wasted," Dennis observed. "If you like, I can wait in another room. You could stretch out on the couch."

Mike shook his head. "No, I'm waiting for Max to call."

"Where is she?"

"Some place where they're not gonna find her. Look, it's not that I don't trust you, but you're in enough trouble as it is. They can't jack you up for not telling them something you don't know."

"Is she OK?" Dennis asked.

"I don't know."

"She blew away those two guys. They're gonna ask about that."

"I know," Mike replied. "They got to her. They wanted Gwen's location. So they took her to a warehouse over in Jersey and worked her over. Ryan and I broke her out. She said she was OK this afternoon, but I don't like the way she looked."

"Can you call her?"

"Yeah. Thing is, she's trying hack into Theo's laptop. If she's working on that, I don't want to disturb her. If she's passed out asleep...I don't want to disturb her."

"You want to go to her?"

Mike shook his head. "No. I want to, but no. I can't torpedo your career. Not after everything you've done. Besides, Max would want me to stay and keep an eye on Gwen and Ryan Junior. There's still a threat.. If I get thrown out of the Bureau, if I end up doing time, I'm done walking out on people."

"They've lost control." Mike continued. "Eliza's probably on the run. From what you're telling me, Galen now sleeps with the fishes. So they gotta make a move. Somehow they have to get back control over the investigation. Someone will call. Or someone will come. Someone very big. I want to see who that is."

"How high do you think this goes?" Dennis asked. "I mean, what if we can't get to whoever it is?"

"They hurt Max. They targeted a woman with a baby. They're gonna pay . We'll get to 'em. One way or another. As for how high...I've stopped thinking of it that way."

"What do you mean?"

"How high is up? When you ask how high it goes, you're assuming there's a limit. That you can take down the people at the top, and shut down what they're doing. That you can catch the violators, and everything else is OK. But this...It's like there's two laws. One for them and one for the rest of us. I feel like after all these years I've finally been let in on the joke."

He leaned back on the couch and looked up at a TV mounted high on the wall. The sound was turned down. The screen showed a cable news channel. A blonde with a pixie haircut was reading off the teleprompter. A crawl at the bottom of the screen mentioned the rising death toll from a mass shooting. The screen changed to a scene of police in SWAT gear on a sidewalk. "There was a time when I would have hunted them down and killed them. Now, it's like that's not enough for me anymore. I don't just have to stop them. I don't just have to kill them. They think the law doesn't apply to them, and I have to prove them wrong."

"Yeah, watch out for that abyss."

Mike took his eyes off the TV and looked at Dennis. ""Abyss?"

" From Nietzsche. 'Beware that, when fighting monsters, you yourself do not become a monster... for when you gaze long into the abyss, the abyss gazes also into you.'"

"I'll have to remember that.. I know a couple of people who could stand to hear it."

The waiting room had wide windows that looked out into the hall. Just outside it was a short connecting hallway with four elevator doors, two on either side. Mike heard one of the elevator doors open, but paid it no attention. He was looking at the mayhem on TV, not because he wanted to see it, because it was better than looking at the sterile walls. The picture had just shifted to a former FBI agent talking about the psychology of mass shooters and plugging his latest book. Maybe I'll write a book if I live through this, Mike thought. The money's probably better. His train of thought was interrupted by Dennis.

"Holy shit."

Mike looked to see Shelby getting out of the elevator with John DiPaulo and Gary Burnworth trailing behind. The three of them strode into the waiting room. Mike and Dennis rose as Shelby stood regarding his wayward agents. "The State Police called. There's nothing I like better than getting my ass on a chopper in the dead of night to fly out to the middle of nowhere to deal with someone's insubordination. You had no authority to release anyone. You two are coming back with me. Now where's this other guy they were holding?"

"They wanted to come to the hospital and check on Doctor Carter," Dennis explained, "and I had to interview her anyway, so.." He trailed off, and looked past Shelby. Mike looked, and saw why. Gwen was being wheeled out by a male nurse, Ryan Junior in her arms, Ryan walking alongside. They stopped at the waiting room door, and Ryan turned and stepped inside. He was about to say something when Shelby turned and recognized him. They stared at each other until Shelby broke the silence.

"Lo. He is risen from the dead."

"Hi Dan. Been a while."

Shelby looked at each of the three agents in turn. "OK, I see two of the Musketeers. Where's the third? Where's Max?"

"She's getting her hair done," Ryan offered. "She found a 24 hour salon."

Shelby stopped looking from agent to agent and settles his gaze on Ryan. "Let me guess. Theo grabbed Doctor Carter to get to you."

"How'd you know it was Theo?" Ryan asked.

"Fuchida here guessed that you and Theo were alive. From the start, he's had doubts about this case, whatever the hell this case is. I didn't believe it at the time." He turned to Gwen. "Are you or your son injured, ma'am?" " Shelby asked.

"We're fine."

"Is there a current threat?" he asked Ryan. " Do I need to assign a protective detail?"

"Yes," Ryan nodded.

"Ma'am," Shelby said to Gwen,"I'll arrange transport so that you and your son get home, and I'll assign a couple of agents as security."

"Thank you," Gwen replied.

"I haven't interviewed her," Dennis protested.

I'll put DiPaulo and Burnworth on that. You're coming back, while I decide whether you're getting a commendation for your investigative insight, or shitcanned for being a cowboy. You might even get both."

Shelby's phone emitted a short series of beeps. "Shelby" A lengthy pause. "Understood. We're on the way back. I'm sending a couple of men home with Doctor Carter. I'm coming back with Fuchida and Weston and...another guy. " A short pause. "It's too complicated to explain. Hell, I don't even know that it can be explained." Another pause. "Yeah, tell him I'll see him when I get there.." He hung up, and stuffed the phone back in his pocket. "OK. We're headed in. Ryan, you're not going to make any trouble, right?"

"I'll be on my best behavior," Ryan promised.

"And I have to advise you and Weston both that you have the right to remain silent and the right to an attorney"

"Ryan..." Gwen interrupted, a look of alarm on her face.

""It's OK," Ryan assured her..

"And both of you hand over your guns," Shelby added.

"The cops already beat you to it," Ryan assured him

"Are we under arrest?" Mike asked.

"Not yet," Shelby explained. " Right now the only charge would be giving me a bad night. We'll get back to the office, I'll hear what you and Agent Lazarus have to say for yourselves, and we'll see if we need to add anything to that."

XI

The place had the Unholy Trinity of seventies decorating. The kitchen was done in goldenrod, the bathroom had been done in avocado, and the living room had a reddish brown carpet that was probably meant to look rustic but really just looked like someone had bled on it a week ago. Considering who lived here, Eliza thought, someone might just have.

'The spare room doesn't get used much," her host explained. "I'm afraid I don't get many guests."

"I won't be using it for very long," Eliza promised. "I'm just passing through. And thank you for this."

"Not at all. You paid for it, after all."

Emily Hanson was a fortyish woman with high cheekbones, pale skin, and long, russet colored hair pinned up in a bun. She'd been one of Strauss' better students, and had enjoyed a remarkably long career for a serial killer. Her cat's eye glasses gave her something of a naughty schoolteacher look, which worked pretty well for a predator who depended on looking completely harmless.

"It's good to have a bolt hole just in case. I can always count on you to keep a low profile, and I have a place to go."

"So you're in a lot of trouble then?" Emily asked, as she placed a stack of folded up towels on the bed.

"It's a risk for all of us," Eliza shrugged. "I've always kept students separate from anything I did for the Organization. Doctor Strauss was never a member, even if he was sort of a founding father and guiding spirit. We're his legacy. I have to preserve that."

Emily smiled the kind of smile she might show to a Girl Scout selling cookies. "There are students all over the country, I'm sure. Why not drive to some place far away. Make your escape from there?"

Eliza sat down on the bed, an antique larger than a twin but not quite a double, and slipped her trainers off. "I need to leave soon, and it's easier to slip out through an area with a lot of air and maritime traffic. Also, I have a few odds and ends to take care of before I leave. After I leave the country, our relationship will continue. I'll still call on your from time to time, for occasional jobs."

"You know you always can. I assume you'll still be the only person with access to The List?"

"Of course. I would never share it with anyone. I'll keep it safe. I'll keep you safe. And it's important that you continue to keep yourself safe, even if I'm away."

"Don't worry," Emily assured her. "I won't be going after any more abortionists."

"It's not, you understand, that they don't deserve it," Eliza explained. "But those are sensitive politically. The FBI investigates those because they're high profile."

"Not always," Emily countered. "I did two of them in Illinois, and no one even suspected anything."

"You were damned lucky," Eliza cautioned. "Below a certain threshold, the government worries more about the perception that terrorists are running around loose in the country than they do about terrorists actually running around loose. Please. Enjoy yourself, but keep it low profile."

"Anyway, I've discovered that sluts are easier and more fun. The abortionists usually have bodyguards.."

"You didn't."

"I did," Emily said beaming. "Twice last month."

"Well, be careful, please." I only have to stay here one night, she reflected. After that...A phrase of Derek's intruded into her mind. _Not my circus, not my monkeys_

"I will, promise. Can I get you anything?"

"No thank you. I just want to stretch out for a few hours."

"OK, then. Good night,"

Emily left, and Eliza sat for a moment, debating whether to take a shower before she turned in. She decided it would be pointless. She was exhausted, and she was never going to be clean anyway. She undressed and lay down to sleep, her Makarov beneath her pillow.

XII

The Chairman sat in a simmering rage on a couch in a sterile looking waiting room down the hall from the Command Center Two of his men stood nearby, staring at the empty hall, trying to look alert and interested at this late hour. The FBI never closed, of course, but most of the people who worked a desk were home in bed right now. And so should he be. He alternated between cursing Eliza and Derek, and wondering if either of them were still alive.

"Someone coming," one of his bodyguards said.

He looked through the open doorway of the waiting room Dan Shelby approaching with two other men. One of them he recognized as JJ Cantrell. The other was a youngish looking Asian man wearing a raid jacket. That would be Dennis Fuchida. If Eliza had planned to have him killed, then something had obviously gone wrong.

Shelby said something to the other men that the Chairman couldn't hear at this distance, and motioned for them to wait. He walked the rest of the way to the waiting room, and stepped inside, offering the Chairman his hand. "Dan Shelby. It's good to meet you, sir."

"Likewise. Have there been any developments?"

'Several. Theo Noble is dead, the hostage has been rescued, and the explosive device he put together has been disposed of."

"I'm very glad. Let me come to the point. I'm here because we're concerned about a possible terrorist threat. Max Hardy is apparently working for whoever it is that's been behind the murders and cyber attacks the task force has been investigating. At this point, we regard her as a defector."

"Defector?"

"Yes. She's betrayed us all. Have you made any progress on finding her?"

"We haven't found her yet, but we have found Mike Weston. He's down the hall. I'm about to interview him. I'd like you to sit in."

"I will, thank you."

"Let's go, then."

XIII

"I'm sorry I got you into this."

Ryan looked at Mike with a mixture of amusement and surprise. "You got me into this? I seem to recall it was the other way around"

They were sitting alone in a conference room with a soundproof plexiglass wall that showed the hallway outside. Two agents were standing guard outside the door.

"I mean," Mike began, "that it was my idea to..."

"Mike stop it," Ryan interrupted. "The only person who put us here was me. And I wanted to be here now. I had a talk with Gwen. It's time for me to come in from the cold."

"They're still out there."

"I know. I'm not quitting. I'm changing tactics. Time to face them openly. I wanted to save my family's life. But I also know now that I need to be a part of that life. If they want to move against me now, they have to admit they exist. I don't think they want to."

"You're sure about this? You could end up doing time."

"I know," Ryan admitted. " But I don't just want to survive. I want my life back. I helped bring a son into the world. He's going to know me."

"So in the meantime, what do we tell 'em?"

"The truth."

"That we're vigilantes operating totally outside the law?"

"Well, maybe we won't be quite that blunt about it."

Mike looked up to see a see Shelby approaching . Behind him were Dennis, JJ, and a man Mike didn't recognize. _Someone will call. Or someone will come. Someone very big. I want to see who that is._

Shelby and the others filed into the conference room. JJ apparently recognized Ryan, and stared with open mouthed astonishment. The stranger, Mike thought, looked surprised as well, but maybe not quite in the same way. Maybe more like the surprise of a man who has just spent a lot of money on exterminators and is still finding cockroaches.

"Gentlemen," Shelby said, "I'd like you to meet Ryan Hardy. He used to work here."

"Yeah, I had to change careers suddenly, in mid life," Ryan grinned. "You have any idea how tough that is in this economy?"

" Ryan,' Shelby continued, "this is JJ Cantrell, acting head of the Terudom task force. I believe you met Dennis Fuchida. Everyone, this is Clayton Alford. He chairs the Strategic Operations Planning Group. They do something or other highly classified Be seated, everyone"

Shelby sat at the head of the table, Cantrell to his left and Alford to his right. Mike and Ryan sat at the far end of the table from Shelby. Dennis took a seat between Mike and JJ.

"Let's get this show on the road,"" Shelby began. "Weston, Ryan, you've both been advised of your rights. Do either of you want an attorney?"

"I don't think they're open at this hour of the morning," Ryan said.

"Would you like to put this off until we're all better rested?" Shelby asked.

"No, let's get it over with,"

"I'm gonna ask this one time, and I better get a straight answer," Shelby said. "Where's Max?"

"She's hacking her way into Theo's laptop," Ryan explained.

"So you got the laptop when you killed Theo."

"So I guess we can add withholding evidence to the other charges," Alford commented.

Shelby's head swivelled until his eyes locked on Alford. "You'll get your turn, Mister Alford." He turned back to Ryan. "Since Max now has the laptop, I take it she was involved in the rescue earlier this evening."

"Yes. All three of us were," Ryan answered.

"Next question. So tell us, Ryan, where have you been all this time?" Shelby asked.

"I've been investigating a wealthy, powerful, and well connected group of serial killers operating under political protection. And playing Minecraft."

"This man is off his rocker," Alford objected. "No such group could exist."

'They threatened my family," Ryan continued. "So I played dead. When they came to suspect I was still alive, they framed Max."

"Are you going to listen to this?" Alford asked.

"Mister Alford," Shelby said, without looking in Alford's direction, "I am interviewing a witness. If you interfere or interrupt it's obstructing, and I will be...annoyed."

"What evidence do you have that they framed Max?" Shelby asked.

"The bank accounts were opened right after my death, weren't they?" Ryan asked. "Do you really think that's a coincidence?"

"Why would they frame your niece?" Shelby continued.

"To get to me. To take her hostage."

"How would they do that?" Shelby asked.

"There was a plan," JJ interrupted. "To move her to a black site." Every head in the room turned, and every eye focused on him.

"Galen got orders," JJ continued. "I don't know from whom. I don't know that there was anything ever on paper. When she was arrested, Max was going to be sent to a secure site. Galen said she was working for some sort of terrorist group. That they'd turned her. That she'd killed a man named Gavin Leach. To keep him from being questioned. No, I don't believe it's all a coincidence. I don't believe in that kind of coincidence."

"Did someone repeal the Constitution without telling me?" Shelby asked.

"The law allows for the indefinite detention of US citizens by the military in cases of terrorism," Alford argued.

"Oh I get it," Shelby said to Alford. "The arrest would take place overseas. Or offshore. Or the records would be altered to indicate that it did."

"We're at war," Alford shot back. 'We have to protect the nation's security."

"Because nothing makes the nation more secure than a bunch of God damn unaccountable secret police. Let's get back to this guy who was killed. You say Max didn't do it. Any idea who did?"

"Leach was actually killed by a woman named Eliza Getman," Mike explained. "The killing was done in low light. . She and Max are both brunettes, about the same height. Ms Getman runs a PMC, and she provides the Organization with security, firepower and muscle."

"This Getman woman," Shelby asked. "Where is she now?"

"We don't know," Ryan replied.

"There's a bunch of dead bodies down on Rockaway Beach," Shelby said. "Who did that?"

"That was us," Mike answered. "Mostly. They might have killed each other some, in all the confusion."

"Why did you do that, Weston?" Shelby demanded.

"We were hunting Theo. They were hunting us. It got messy."

"Counting Theo," Shelby said, " that's six people dead, and that's just tonight. Any other killings you two maniacs want to confess to?"

"There's a few over in Jersey," Mike answered. "I'm not sure exactly how many. We were rescuing Max."

"Did Max kill those guys at that shitbag apartment building?"

"Ask her," Mike replied.

"Oh I plan to," Shelby assured him. " Change of topic. Can anyone in this room tell me what has become of Miles Galen?"

"Have you tried putting an ad on Missed Connections?" Dennis asked.

Shelby glared at Dennis. "That'll be enough from the peanut gallery."

"So is it a coincidence," Ryan asked , " that Max, or someone posing as her, started depositing sackfuls if cash right after I disappeared? Is it a coincidence that a murder weapon turned up in her car that was left parked while she was traveling out of state to look for me?" Is it a coincidence that someone tried to kill Agent Fuchida right after he started asking questions about Galen? Is it a coincidence that Galen disappeared about the time the case against Max started smelling like dead fish, and Theo resurfaced.?"

Shelby stared wordlessly at Ryan for a moment. "No," he said at last. "I don't think it is." He turned to Cantrell. "JJ? What do you think?"

"It's too many coincidences," JJ relied.

"OK, then." Shelby said, " It's starting to sound like the task force had a mole problem, but it wasn't Max."

"Max could have been working with her uncle," Alford suggested. "They've worked together on illegal activities before."

Ryan looked balefully at Alford. "I worked alone. I faked my death to protect my family. I didn't start working with Max or Mike until they were targeted. And whoever did that is going to wish they hadn't. Because I am stronger with them than without them. Someone will find that out soon."

"Mister Hardy," Alford argued, "you have no proof this organization even exists."

"I will have," Ryan countered, " when Max gets into that laptop."

"Mister Shelby," Alford said," I don't understand why these men are not under arrest. They've admitted to being involved with Max Hardy, they refuse to tell us where she is, they've been involved in some sort of vigilante crusade looking for Theo Noble that has resulted in multiple deaths..."

Shelby held up his right hand. "That's enough." He turned to Cantrell. "I'm going to give Franklin time to wake up before I hit him with all this. For right now, we have to assume that the whole task force is deeply compromised. I want you to stand 'em down. We have to start preparing a damage report. I want everything frozen. I want to be able to go through the place with a microscope and start figuring out just who did what to whom."

"Right," JJ said.

Shelby turned to Ryan. "I gotta ask. This investigation of yours. Have you killed anyone?"

"No," Ryan replied.

"Who killed Lisa Campbell?"

"I don't know."

"I'll accept that answer. For the moment. Weston, effective immediately you're back on duty. Drop by my office before you leave and pick up your gun and badge."

"You can't do that..." Alford began.

"It's done," Shelby interrupted. "Weston's suspension was related to the charges against Max Hardy. Whatever case there was against her evaporated when her uncle turned up alive. Weston's conduct during his suspension is a separate matter and will be handled through Bureau channels. Ryan, you're free to go." When Alford started to interrupt, Shelby cut him off. "Let me finish. Right now there's no Federal charges on Ryan, although that could change. He was carrying a gun without a permit in the state of New York . That, and the shootouts are state charges, not Federal, so I can't hold him for that. But this being New York state, and it being a weapons charge, they will throw the book. Ryan, I suggest you use this time to get yourself a good lawyer. And don't leave town. If I have to chase your ass down, I'm gonna forget that we go way back."

"Don't worry, I'm not going anywhere," Ryan promised.

"What about the killings?" Alford demanded. "The killings that the task force was set up to investigate? You're letting him go and the Terudom killings are still unsolved"

"What about them, Mister Alford?" Shelby asked. "Are you implying a link between Ryan and these murders? Or maybe you're suggesting that there's more to these cases than what you've told us."

A slender young man with glasses and close cropped blonde hair came running from the direction of the Command Center, and barged in without knocking. "Sir," he said to Shelby, "We have a situation in the Command Center that, uh ...you gotta see this."

They all filed out of the conference room, and hastened to Command. Mike and Ryan having been seated farthest from the door, found themselves bringing up the rear. They found the agents on duty staring at their screens. Every screen showed the same image. It was Max, sitting at a table, apparently visible on the camera of a laptop. The speakers were playing a conversation. A woman was speaking. But it wasn't Max. He recognized the voice. Eliza.

"Sir," Eliza was saying," I've run the numbers. It'll be expensive. The wranglers we're dealing right now are charging up to five thousand per unit. That's blonde, female, reasonably attractive. Right now our main source for those is Eastern Europe. Ukraine has been a good source because of the war there, but that may be winding down. We've been getting some of these girls from Ukraine, Byelorussia, Georgia., Circassia. Well, boys too, or course, but mostly young women. The traffickers are moving people in bulk, but we have contacts with several wranglers who pick out likely prospects. Right now our best supplier is a man named Nicolae Varku. We deal a lot with Nick. I've met him personally."

"It seems like a lot of trouble to go overseas." A man's voice. "Can't we keep the House supplied domestically?"

"We could. Look, it's cheaper to get them here, but it's easier, and more secure, to disappear them from overseas. Besides, we keep getting more and more specialized requests. Everything from age to eye color to race to body type. We've spoiled these people, frankly. Mrs. Hermanson at the House gives me a want list. I actually want to hand a lot of the buying off to her, anyway. She's good at it, and it's getting more and more time consuming. I have to spend a lot of time on security and whatnot. I want to put her in complete charge of purchasing. I need to spend much more time overseeing background checks, security, and so forth. We're getting more and more people through the House. I have to stay on top of that."

"I'll see to it And I'll have our people run interference for shipments coming into the country. I'll see to it that the right people are looking the other way."

Mike recognized the man's voice now. Alford's

"I also want to make some changes to the way we're handling payment." Eliza again. "I want to set up a payment line using letters of credit It's a lot more secure than cash."

On screen, Max was picking up a phone, and placing a call.

"We can," the Alford voice replied. "Although we'll want to vet the banks involved very carefully..."

A phone rang on a desk nearby. "Command Center," the man who had burst into the conference room said. "Yes, he's here, just a second. Sir, it's Max. She wants to talk to you."

Shelby put the phone to his ear. On the screen, Max was saying something, but all Mike could hear was Alford talking about letters of credit. "Yeah, we're getting it," he said.

Max touched few keys, and the audio feed stopped. Looking at her on the monitors, Mike realized that she looked haggard, and there were bags under her eyes.

"Can you hear me?" she asked.

"Yeah, we hear you," Shelby replied.

"There's a lot more of this stuff. I think Tom Reyes plugged some kind of spyware into our computers. But right now, I was just wondering it I can come home."

"Yes, you can come home. We've really missed you. You sound a little shaky. So just stay where you are. I'm sending Mike and Ryan to pick you up."

"Thank you sir. Are they there now?"

"Yeah, wait one." He turned to Mike. "Talk to her on the way. Do not lose a minute. We'll get your gun and badge, and you can take a Bureau car. Ryan can ride along ." He shot a glance at Ryan. "Unarmed," he added, with emphasis. "Take Fuchida with you as backup." He resumed speaking to Max on the phone. "Mike's on the way, he's gonna call you. Just hang on, help's on the way."

"That conversation s faked," Alford said angrily. "You have no proof that's my voice. It means nothing. And it will not stand up in court."

Mike turned, and in two long strides was in Alford's face. "You better hope to God something stands up in court. Because if it doesn't...I spent a year hunting Mark Gray. I will spend the rest of my life hunting you."

"Not now, Weston," Shelby warned. "First things first."

XIV

Ryan sat by Max's bed, watching her sleep. She had nodded off a few minutes ago, as they waited for the Doctor to return and give his verdict. Mike sat by the door in a chair that actually reclined, half dozing. Dennis had taken the laptops back to headquarters. Mike had ridden with her in the ambulance from the safe house, while Dennis and Ryan had followed in the car. She'd insisted that she wasn't that badly off, even as she was shaking from exhaustion. They'd looked her over and drawn some bloodhoping to identify the drugs that had been used on her.

"I know you said you were changing tactics, but damn."

Ryan turned to find Mike sitting up. "I guess I always knew the day would come. It's like you said. The hard part is coming back."

"How did you know that they'd clear Max?"

"I didn't. I was just out of anything else to do."

"What are you going to do now? Shelby's right. They'll put you away."

"I went away to protect my family. Now I''ve come back. For the same reason. If it costs me, well...I'll do what it takes. I told you the day they put Joe down that if anything happened to me I want the two of you taking care of each other. If I'm not there to walk her down the aisle, she still walks down the aisle. If I can know that Gwen and my son are safe, and you two are together, then it was all worth it."

"We're gonna take 'em down," Mike promised. "And when we do, that has to count for something."

Ryan nodded wordlessly. "I'll be back," Mike said, and headed down the hall in the direction of the rest room.

Ryan looked at the clock. Dawn would be breaking outside.

Max opened her eyes and sat up suddenly. She looked around, as if uncertain of where she was. "You OK?" Ryan asked.

"Yeah. I'm good."

"You should rest," Ryan chided her.

"What I really want is something to eat. And a shower."

A short, olive skinned man with a fringe of dark hair around his bald head and wire rimmed glasses appeared at the door "I'm Dr Alati," he said. He walked to the side of the bed opposite Ryan. "How are you feeling?" he asked Max.

"Better. Pretty good, actually."

"We haven't found anything on the toxicology screen. I think whatever they gave you is very likely out of your system. I think mostly you need to rest. You can go home, we aren't admitting you. But you do need to take it easy. I'm going to give you a prescription. Something to help you sleep. Now sometimes, people can have post traumatic stress. Trouble sleeping, for example. So I want you to take it easy. I'll also give you a referral. For a psychologist."

"There's nothing wrong with me," Max protested.

"I didn't say there was," Alati assured her. "Just take things slowly, and if you need to talk to someone, then do."

"I will, promise."

Alati left, and Max watched him retreat down the hall. When he was out of sight, she turned to Ryan. "I'm going home, and shower and change. I have to sleep a little while, but they're going to need my help with those laptops, and I'm going after Eliza."

"I know. I'd lecture you, but you wouldn't listen, so I'll save my breath."

"Good. Where's Mike?"

"Rest room, I think."

"Something happened at the motel, before you arrived."

"Yeah?"

"Coleman was telling me about a guy who worked for Eliza. A hit man named Derek. Turns out he was the guy who did the surveillance. He ran the team, anyway. And Coleman said that Derek had been asking questions about me. About the Shiny investigation, back before everything got totally crazy. He said that Derek thought I might be like you."

"Like me?"

"Yeah. And Coleman asked if it was true. If I really was like you."

"So what did you tell him?

"That I didn't know."

"I've done a lot of things that I'm not proud of," Ryan said. " I've tried to protect people. But I've also ended up hurting them. Or I disappointed them. I don't ever want you to really be like me. Because I think you're better. And I don't want you to make the mistakes that I've made. I didn't spend all those months alone in the shadows to watch you become like me. I told Mike. Don't be me. And now I'm telling you. Because if I have to watch you make the mistakes I made,, I really will feel like I am cursed."

"You're a good man, even if sometimes you forget that. And I think that if I am like you, it's only in the best ways. But I will track her down."

"I know you will. And when you find her?"

"I'll let you know."

"You're awake." Ryan looked to find Mike had returned.

"Good news," she told him. "They're kicking me out of here. And we're going out for breakfast"

XV

The Sun wasn't up yet, but the sky was light, and the day promised to be clear. A cold wind was kicking up, and Ryan noticed, as the three of them stepped out onto the walkway outside the hospital door, that Max had pulled her coat tightly around her, as if the cold bothered her.

"You know what I thought about, when I saw you by the bedside?" she asked.

"No, what?" Ryan answered.

"It made me think abut when I was little, and you would read to me. Do you remember that?"

"Yeah, I do."

"He read to me a lot," she said to Mike. "The Hobbit. A Wrinkle In Time. The Oz books. When we have children, you have to read to them. Real books. Not e readers."

He put his arm around her, and pulled her in close. "I will," he said. "That's a promise. So tell me, what was your favorite book?"

She thought for a moment. "The Wind In The Willows." She stopped , and looked up at the brightening sky.

Mike and Ryan paused for a moment, watching Max stare at the open sky above the buildings all around. "What?" Mike asked.

"All this he saw," she quoted, " for one moment breathless and intense, vivid on the morning sky; and still, as he looked, he lived; and still, as he lived, he wondered."

"I remember," Ryan said. "Come on guys. I'm buying."

Musical Interlude - Cold Gray Light Of Dawn by The Blue Oyster Cult

* Mike's caution may seem excessive to some readers, but it's based in reality. Police shootings have become highly controversial. This is not the place or time for an extended commentary on the issue. There's a lot I could say on that subject, but not here. What I will say is this. Mike knew that the cops would be nervous, on edge, and expecting a possible active shooter. He didn't want to get shot, and he didn't want a stray bullet hitting little Ryan. In real life, once the police are told that a gun or a shooter is present, they'll start seeing one everywhere. So he took off his gun, stepped away from the car, and raised his hands.

If, God forbid, you ever have to call the police after having shot someone in self defense, unload the weapon before the police arrive. PUT IT DOWN, AND STEP AWAY FROM IT. Let them pick it up. When the police arrive at the scene of a shooting, they don't know you're the good guy. It may be obvious to you, but it isn't to them. If they think you're reaching for a gun, the results may be unfortunate.

** Explosive Ordnance Disposal. The term is military in origin.

*** The US Government maintains a vast fleet of aircraft for the use of VIPs. The most famous of these are Air Force One and Marine One, as well as the so called Doomsday Plane, a modified 747 intended as an airborne Presidential command post in the event of nuclear war. But there are many lesser aircraft as well. The C-37A is a modified Gulfstream V business jet. It requires a crew of four, and can carry up to eight passengers. All branches of the US armed forces, including the Coast Guard, operate C-37As as executive transports. Amenities include a full galley, separate lavatories for passengers and crew, satellite TV, and multiple power outlets for office equipment.

****The FBI has several types of helicopters in inventory. The UH-60 Blackhawk is best known as an Army helicopter, but the FBI has some. I suspect they are mainly intended for SWAT/HRT type operations. It can carry eleven passengers. More typical of the FBI's helicopter fleet is the Bell 407, which is comparable to the helicopters you saw used on The Following. (I'm not sure exactly what models were used on the show.) The Bell 407 has a crew of two and carry up to five passengers.

***** In real life, bombs and explosives are not usually disarmed unless it has to be done to save a life. In most cases, it's easier and safer to dispose of an explosive device by setting it off. RDX is a white crystalline solid. It's often used in conjunction with other explosives, but can be used on its own. It is one component of Semtex, which we encountered early in Terudom.

****** Serial Advanced Technology Attachment. Videos of what Max is doing, using a SATA cable and USB power cable to hook up and read the data on a laptop hard drive, can be seen on YouTube. The one I used is called "How to access a hard drive from a dead computer"

 _About That Conversation_

Of course we all remember Theo warning Eliza that he had broken the encryption on her phone, and knew who she had been talking to. But we were never told who Eliza's boss was, or what they had been talking about. The audience was left, maybe, with the implication that the conversation Theo had overheard might be about the plan to deliver Ryan Hardy to Eliza. But we were never explicitly told that, and Theo's threat was to release the conversation to the press. So maybe the content was merely embarrassing, and not criminal.

A bit about the underlying assumption here. I've alluded to all of this before, but maybe it bears repeating, since I'm once more close to going AU . Eliza's behavior in the series finale makes no logical sense. She threatens to kill a anyone Ryan "might have told" about whatever he might have discovered at her penthouse. The only way I could see for this to make sense was if Eliza's contacts with Theo were unknown to the Big Bad, and, in effect unauthorized. She was, as Derek would have put it, "Off the books".

The showrunners had Tom being blackmailed to plug a flash drive into the FBI's servers. Why did they do that? If Theo was going to be dead at the end of S3, then that whole subplot had no long term consequences. But if they planned to bring him back, and there seems to have been some thought of that, then whatever malware Tom helped to plant was still going to be there for Theo to use Further, if Theo was still alive, that recording that he threatened Eliza with still existed somewhere. So the scene of Tom planting the malware was basically the showrunners taking out an option on bringing Theo back for S4. But if they brought him back, he and his laptop were potentially weapons that could have been used against the Organization. So while I don't think the showrunners were planning to anything close to what I've done here, I don't think I've gone AU.

There is one aspect of the series finale for which I can find no retroactive logical explanation. When Theo visits Eliza's penthouse, Eliza is wearing a tight black dress and what looks like a shoulder holster. There are armed security men in evidence, and she seems to be running a business office of sorts. When Ryan and Max visit her penthouse, there is no security in evidence, the office seems to have been packed up and carted off, and Eliza is dressed in a completely different manner and has changed her hairstyle. Although I have had immense fun trying to fill in answers for the many gaps of S3, (With maybe a couple more yet to come), here I have drawn a complete blank. Giving Eliza an actual office downtown may be the one aspect of Terudom where I have, arguably, strayed farthest from the canon.

34


	21. Chapter 21 - Someone To Come Home To

Disclaimer: It's fanfic, meaning I don't own anything or make any money off of it. It's a labor of love. Please don't sue me.

Welcome to Chapter 21 Of Terudom. Like all the others, this chapter is rated T. Apart from some language, this would likely pass muster on an episode of The Following. If you're old enough to watch The Following, you're old enough to read this. But as always, the standard disclaimers apply. It's The Following, so expect dark themes, violence, and general unpleasantness.

And don't try anything you read here at home.

Further Disclaimer: I do not resort to the device they use in Hollywood of giving every telephone number a 555 prefix because they're afraid that people will actually call it and make pests of themselves. I'm assuming you all know that this isn't real.

I said that if all went the way I planned, this update would be the last. So consulting the Book Of Excuses, I find that this chapter ran linger than I thought. Whatever limited skills I have as a writer, I have proved to be incompetent when it comes to estimating how long a story will be. The next update should the last, although as you will see at the end of this chapter, the final showdown is coming.

Chapter 21 - Someone to Come Home To

A sign on the building at street level promised lunch, dinner, and delivery, but the Sun wasn't up yet, and it was doubtful that many of the people who worked in the office building in front of him were even awake. A few lights showed in the windows of the tower above him, but mostly the building, which was shaped much like one of the monoliths from 2001, was about as dark.

He wore an odd looking set of glasses that served to partly cover his face, and a gray wool felt outback hat. His dark blue parka jacket had a hood, but he preferred the hat. It didn't look quite so much as though he was trying to obscure his face from video surveillance, which in fact he was. He carried a briefcase in his left hand, leaving his gun hand free in case of trouble.

He took the elevator to the 23rd floor. There were three ways to enter the target area, the elevator and two stairwells. The stairwells would, he knew, have motion sensors on the doors. These could perhaps be spoofed, but he had decided that the safest way in was the most direct. He would simply step off the elevator, and kill any guards that he encountered.

As the elevator neared his floor, he set the briefcase down and dialed one of the combination locks to 601. This would activate the cell phone jammer inside. The guards wouldn't be calling for backup. He opened his coat. The little MP5K submachine gun was slung under his right arm. It was not all that much bigger than some handguns, but the silencer screwed onto it's short stubby barrel made it longer.

When the door opened, he had the MP5K in his hand. He was facing one of the two stairwell entrances across the hall. No guard was to be seen, but he knew they'd be close by. He took the briefcase, and placed it to keep the elevator doors from closing.

To the right, the hallway ended in a closet door. To the left there was a reception area and a conference room straight ahead. As he walked forward he saw two plainclothes security men coming out of the reception area to see who was getting off the elevator. He raised the submachine gun and fired a short burst into the closest guard, a short, barrel chested man with close cropped hair. The 9mm cartridges he was using had been specially loaded to keep the muzzle velocity of the bullets subsonic, to avoid the giveaway sonic crack of a round breaking the sound barrier. . The burst caught the guard squarely in the chest. His next burst killed the second guard, who was reaching for his pistol. The man quickly removed a spare magazine from a pouch held under his left arm by the shoulder holster and reloaded his weapon. He listened for any sound of movement. He could hear nothing. He went back to the elevator and removed the briefcase, allowing the doors to close.

Raleigh would take nothing for granted. He expected to find no more than two guards, but would make a careful check to make sure he was alone. Only then would he get on with the business that had brought him to the offices of ZR Security Ops.

II

Eliza woke to the caustic buzzing of her cell phone alarm. She'd placed it on the bureau so that she would have to get up out of bed to turn it off. She stared at the cell phone, wondering if she could hit the thin edge of it with the Makarov under her pillow. Probably, she decided, but she couldn't repay Emily's hospitality with bullet holes in her walls and furniture. She reluctantly slid out from beneath the covers and went to turn the alarm off. There was a window by the bureau, and she looked out at the brightening sky for a moment before opening up one of her suitcases to find a robe.

She heard Emily tapping softly at the door. "Come in", she said.

Emily cracked the door open and stuck her head inside. "I heard your alarm go off," she explained. "Would you like something to eat? I can make us some waffles."

"I'd like that," Eliza replied. "You mind if I take a shower?"

"Of course not."

The shower helped to revive her, and she stood under it long enough to feel some self reproach about just how much hot water she was using. She dressed in jeans, a black turtleneck, and black trainers and joined Emily in the kitchen for breakfast.

"Do you want maple syrup, boysenberry, or would you prefer strawberries?" Emily asked.

"Maple syrup, please."

Besides the waffles, Emily had laid out grapefruit, strawberries, juice and coffee. The syrup was served in small pitchers instead of from the bottle. The cream was also served in its own separate pitcher, and the linen tablecloth was spotless. "If you weren't so useful to me in other ways," Eliza commented around a mouthful of waffle, "I might hire you as a cook."

"I'd be good at it," Emily beamed. "If you're staying, I can make us dinner tonight. Are you staying?"

"I'm leaving late tonight. For good, I'm afraid. I'll be in and out between now and then. I have a few final preparations to make before I go."

"Is there anything you need me to do today?" Emily asked. "I did have a job interview lined up."

"Go. I wouldn't ask you to miss that. Besides, what I have to do I should be able to manage myself. Are you still working for that investment guy?"

"You mean Walter? Yeah, but I'm getting tired of his broken promises. He was going to teach me the business, and I was going into business for myself when he retired. As it stands, nothing he promised has worked out. I'm working longer hours than he promised, for less money, and I'm not learning much of anything. And he's getting on in years. He'll hang it up soon, and then where will I be? Out of work, that's where. So it's time to start looking. But then I thought that a person should do something that they're passionate about. "

"So what is your passion leading you to do?"

" I'm interviewing at a clinic."

Eliza swallowed her coffee a little too fast, and some of it went down the wrong way.

"You OK?" Emily asked.

"Yeah."

"Anyway, it's a great opportunity. The benefits wouldn't be quite as good, but on the other hand, I can find out the names of sluts. And I can also maybe find out the names of people buying tissue."

"As in fetal tissue?"

"Of course."

Arguing with Emily's passion, Eliza realized, would be some combination of pointless and dangerous. "Just remember what Doctor Strauss told us about high profile victims. And honestly, I'd be worried about what happens when there's been enough disappearances or what have you from the clinic that the police or the FBI start to notice a pattern."

"They won't disappear from the clinic," Emily protested. "I'd never do things that way. I can get names, and then give it a little time before I take them. I doubt anyone would ever make a connection. It's not like they advertise what they've done. Same with anyone buying tissue. No one will ever make a connection. I've thought it through. They'll just be people who disappeared, or who died, and there was never any motive for anyone ever to hurt them." She smiled, as she explained it, like a student who's just solved a tricky algebra problem.

"I think it sounds risky," Eliza cautioned. "And I wouldn't want anything to happen to you."

"Nothing's going to happen to me, I promise. But I like how you worry about me. Now there's cold cuts and potato salad in the fridge, and a loaf of French bread in the cabinet. I'm cooking tonight. Salmon steaks."

III

Mike put on his raid jacket over the armored vest he was wearing and slung his Remington 12 gauge pump shotgun over his shoulder. Around him in the cavernous hangar, about a dozen HRT operators in black fatigues were awaiting a last minute briefing before they launched.. He was standing near a door to an office at the back of the hangar, which he had picked as an out of the way spot He didn't know any of the HRT operators, and the Hostage Rescue Team was taking no interest in him. He wanted to be alone with his thoughts. A black Bell 460 sat parked at the opposite end of the hangar being serviced by mechanics.

"So how's Max?" He looked up, surprised at the question. He hadn't noticed anyone was there. He turned to find Dennis beside him.

"She OK?" Dennis asked.

"Sorry," Mike apologized. "I didn't see you there. We took her out for breakfast, and then we took her home. I think she's OK. She needs to rest. She set her alarm to get up after a couple of hours, and I turned it off after she nodded off. Which was about ten seconds after her head hit the pillow."

"And Ryan?"

"He's with Gwen. He offered to stay with Max. I told him he needed to be looking for a lawyer, and spending some time with Gwen and Ryan Junior."

"You mean before they bust him." Mike looked at him sharply for a moment. "Sorry," Dennis added.

"It's OK," Mike said. "Yeah, before they bust him. Is Chelsea still at your place?"

"I told her she could go home. I think it's safe."

The office door opened suddenly outward, nearly catching Dennis. Shelby walked out, along with a black HRT agent named Jacobs who would be leading the helicopter element in this morning's assault. Shelby stopped for a moment, while Jacobs continued towards the group of HRT agents.

"You were right and I was wrong," he said to Dennis. "I should have listened. That was outstanding work. Which is why you're not on suspension. Having said that, you don't release people without authorization. Pull that shit again, and I'll bury you in Records Management or permanently assign you to investigating office supply theft. Unless I can think of something worse."

Dennis started to say he was sorry, but Shelby had turned, and was hastening to catch up with Jacobs. "Come on," he said to Mike and Dennis.

Jacobs and Shelby stood at the edge of the assembled agents. "OK people, listen up," Jacobs said.

"'Our target this morning is a warehouse over in Newark, Fairfax International Forwarding. One of our agents was abducted and taken there. She's been rescued, but we need to take this place down and look for suspects or evidence. The people who did it are very well armed, so we're going in loaded for bear. Now we've had a UAV on station for the last hour, and we don't see any vehicles or activity. They may have bugged out, but we aren't taking any chances"

"Since this place has a heavy gate and security fence, we'll land both choppers in the parking lot. It's big enough. Jenna 16 lands near the gate. Their chalk assaults the gatehouse and gets the gate open for the ground vehicles. They'll bring in more agents plus paramedics just in case. Jenna 19 will land near the front of the main building, and that chalk will breach the front door. We think the fence is too sturdy to crash through and if we try climbing over, we're potentially exposed to fire from anyone inside who decides to resist."

"We've been told that this place has facilities to hold multiple hostages. We have no information about any additional hostages inside, but be sure you positively ID any target before engaging. If it has a weapon, shoot it. Questions?"*

"We've got clearance from Newark airport, right?" Shelby asked. " We have to come in through their traffic pattern."

"Yeah, we're good," Jacobs said. "They know we're coming. They've been told it's a homeland security exercise, and they'll delay flights if they have to. Any other questions?"

There were none. "Saddle up," Jacobs ordered.

The main hangar doors were closed against the morning cold. The agents filed out through a double door next to the main aircraft door at the end of the building. Outside was La Guardia airport. A 737 was rolling down the runway from the northeast, and turning towards the main terminals. Parked just ahead were two choppers, a Blackhawk and a Bell 460. The Bell 460 was Jenna 16, the Blackhawk was Jenna 19. Shelby, Mike and Dennis headed towards the Blackhawk, behind Jacobs and eight other HRT agents. Four more agents were boarding Jenna 16. Mike could hear Jacobs talking to Shelby. "Sir, you sure you want to do this? You could wait until we've secured the area."

"I've survived more shit then you'll see in a lifetime," Shelby replied.

"We should play The Ride Of The Valkyries," Dennis remarked.

Apparently Shelby overheard it. "Knock it off," he said over his shoulder.

They boarded the Blackhawk, and strapped themselves into their seats. Dennis was on Mike's right, with Shelby to his left. Shelby put on a headset. "Let's do it," he said to Jacobs, who sat beside him.

The Blackhawk revved up it's engine and lifted off first, heading southwest across Long Island and climbing rapidly. Mike looked down at the houses like toys, thinking about Max. She always loved riding in a helicopter, and when she found out that she'd missed this, he'd likely get an earful about turning her alarm off.

As they continued southwest, they crossed over the East River. Mike looked over his shoulder and could see to the north the towers of Manhattan's financial district. As they passed the southern tip of Manhattan, he could barely make out Ground Zero. The sight made him think once again of Max. Her father had died there.

As they neared the Jersey shore, Mike thought of the helicopter assault from Apocalypse Now. What was it Colonel Kilgore had said? "We'll come in low out of the rising sun." Well that was exactly what they were doing now. Coming in low over the water with the sun at their backs. Maybe Dennis had a point. Ahead was the Bayonne waterfront. They crossed over Bayonne , over Newark bay, and began descending rapidly. In the distance ahead was Newark Airport, just across I-95. Morning traffic was heavy. As they crossed the shore line, they found themselves over acres of Conex containers, like stacks and stacks of colorful Lego blocks. . As they approached the ground, Mike recognized Fairfax. The rectangular white building, the open field behind, the perimeter security fence topped with wire, and just beyond it, the interstate. He could see a column of vehicles approaching the front gate.

They touched down in the parking lot, the pilot careful that his rotors did not contact any of the light poles. As soon as the wheels were down, Mike jumped out through the open door, unslung his shotgun, and began running towards the building. He could see, off to his right, the Bell 460 . Four agents were jumping out and running for the gatehouse. One of the HRT agents from the Blackhawk was carrying a device that looked like a black cylinder with a wedge on the end. Mike recognized a Rabbit Tool** Upon reaching the door, they inserted the wedge into the side near the hinges. When he hit the button, the steel door popped off the hinges like it was made of plywood, fell inward with a crash, and the agents stormed inside.

But the place was empty. The agents moved room to room, finding a massive vault that had been used to store something valuable and bulky. Mike suspected arms and ammunition. They found a hallway with a steel door at the end pocked with bullet marks. Mike recognized the hall where he had shot it out with the Organization guards earlier. And at the end of the hall, they found the cage room, with the cages still there.

Mike pointed out one of the cages to Dennis and Shelby. "That's the one Max was in." Looking at it, he remembered the mixture of horror and relief when he's finally found her.

"Excuse me sir." It was Jacobs, speaking to Shelby.

"What is it?" Shelby asked.

"Everything Agent Weston told us is true. The vidcams in back have been shot out. There's still a piece of carpet draped over the wire on the back fence. The digital lock on one of the back doors has been fried, I guess by the magnet they used. There's tire tracks in the back lot. It was raining the night they hit this place. There's a room with one way glass, and there was some kind of equipment bolted to the floor. It's been removed. There's been a bunch of documents burned in steel barrels in one of the loading bays."

"Thanks, Jacobs. You and Fuchida give us a moment, please" When they were alone, Shelby turned to Mike, who was staring at the empty cage.. "I never doubted you. But we had to have proof."

"I know."

"So the task force was basically just a sock puppet. The question now is who had their hand up its ass."

Mike looked away from the cage and faced Shelby. "Alford probably. We need to prove that recording is genuine."

"We're working on it," Shelby replied. "Turns out we've got a file on that trafficker they were discussing, so that much is real, at least We're trying to run down this Mrs. Hermanson character. I have to ask. Do you have direct knowledge of any murders Ryan has committed, other than those two shootouts? Because this will come up later, and I do not want to see you or Max go down trying to cover for him."

"No"

"But you suspected that he did Marloth, or you wouldn't have gone looking for Ranson."

"Max always held on to the hope that Ryan was alive," Mike explained. "When she realized it was Ryan who killed Marloth, She didn't tell anyone. She didn't even tell me until after we got to North Carolina and found Ranson. She suspected early on that Galen was a mole. It's a Hardy family tradition. Ryan lied to Max about Theo and Eliza to protect the people he loved. Max lied about Ranson for the same reason.."

"So you're admitting that Ryan is the Terudom killer and Max withheld evidence."

"Look, I'm not covering for Ryan, because I don't need to. If you want to charge Ryan with the Terudom killings, good luck. The task force investigated for months and came up empty handed. Those were all perfect hits, except for Marloth. The only person who could have fingered him for that one was Ranson, and he's dead. If the task force could have tagged Ryan, Eliza would have let them, and saved herself a lot of trouble. They could have gotten a warrant, and Ryan would have been shot resisting. Game over. As for Max, maybe she loses her job, but you will never make a charge of withholding stick. She can just say that she thought Ryan was dead, and it was a coincidence that he had been Ranson's control agent. And if you try to hang anything on her after what she went through..."

"I'm not going after Max," Shelby interrupted. "Maybe someone else will, but I won't. But I need to know where we stand. I look after my people. I don't want anything to happen to her. She didn't ask for any of this. How is she this morning?"

"Better," Mike replied.

'If she's up to coming in, we need to talk to her, and we could maybe use some help with those computers."

"Don't worry," Mike answered. "I know Max. She'll come in and report for work whether she's up to it or not."

" Well, we need all the help we can get right now."

"Then call Ryan," Mike said.

"Ryan?"

"He's been investigating these people for months."

"Hunting and killing them, you mean," Shelby countered.

"Well whatever he's been doing, he knows more about them than we do."

"Ryan Hardy, vigilante consulting detective. I know you two are close, Weston, but that's a bridge too far."

"He's facing State charges. He'll be more help to us at headquarters than sitting in a cell downtown."

"People tend to get really goddam helpful when they're sitting in a cell downtown," Shelby growled.

"Look around you," Mike pleaded. "We wouldn't know about any of this if it wasn't for him. Lock him up and he's got to think about someone trying to nail him on a murder charge."

"Maybe he should have to think about that. Especially since he's guilty as hell."

"Do you want the people who put Max in that cage?"

"I want every one of these assholes. No one does this to one of our people and gets away with it."

"Well there's not much to go on, we still don't know who we can trust, and we're running out of time."

A ringtone interrupted the argument. Shelby reached into the inside pocket of his raid jacket. "Shelby."

A pause. "OK. I'm sending some guys, thanks"

He hung up and turned to Mike. " NYPD says someone broke into Ms Getman's office downtown and killed two people. I want you and Fuchida on it."

"And Ryan?"

"Shit."

"Is that a yes, or a no?"

"I'll call him. Now get moving."

IV

After Emily left for the day, Eliza left the boxy three story apartment building in Queens and began a long surveillance detection rout on foot, ending in a cab ride to the deck where she had left her car. She wasn't happy about not having her own vehicle close, but she couldn't park on the street here. Sunglasses and a toboggan with her hair pinned up beneath it would serve to obscure her appearance well enough, she hoped. As she stepped out of the cream colored brick building she told herself that this was a pointless unnecessary risk. In the course of a long life, they say, a wise man abandons his baggage several times. OK, so she wasn't wise, but this was one piece of baggage she wasn't leaving behind.

When she was certain she was clean she picked up her car and headed for the Union Commercial Bank in Manhattan. Among the items she had retrieved from the storage facility last night were fake ID proclaiming her to be Savannah Dale. Ms Dale had maintained a safe deposit box in Union Commercial for over a year. She might have kept it's contents at the storage facility, but this was far more secure.

Union Commercial's main offices were located in an office tower on Broad Street. She waited patiently for a bank officer to become available while watching TV coverage of the hostage standoff in Woodybrook last night. Sources were reporting that Theo Noble had survived his fall into the river, and had apparently been shot and killed by an FBI agent. The FBI had announced a press conference for later that morning. The reporter mentioned that Ryan Hardy had shot Theo on the bridge ten months ago, and had perished in the river. There was no mention of him being present last night, and in any case he was no longer an FBI agent. She wondered if it was Mike or Max that had finally put Theo out of everyone's misery.

There was no way now of knowing how much the FBI had been told or surmised about Ryan's survival. If Theo was now public knowledge, there was about to be a public shit storm and demands for the truth, or at least enough of it to satisfy the sheep. So she might already have the FBI hunting her as well as the Organization. She needed to be out of New York City and out of the country, which meant that being here was definitely a bad idea, but she was not turning back now. _The heart, they say, hath reasons that reason knoweth not._

A bank officer, a fat man with thinning light brown hair and wire rimmed glasses finally emerged from a room across the lobby, shaking hands with an olive skinned man with a goatee and a Brunello Cucinelli suit. The olive skinned man left, and the fat bank officer asked Eliza if he could help her. He shook hands with her, and showed her to his offic where he resumed the seat that his gut made it uncomfortable to leave. He went through the ritual of checking her ID and signing her in, and then took her back to the vault and her safe deposit box. It was on the bottom row, and when he knelt down to unlock it she honestly wondered if he would be able to get back up again. When he had left the vault, she opened the box he had placed on the table and examined the contents.

A portable hard drive that held evidence incriminating the Chairman that she'd kept as a just in case. It also held copies of personnel files that the Organization had accessed in the process of recruiting moles. A list of every mole on the Organization's payroll could be reconstructed from this. She might need these people to do favors for her later, and they might be reluctant to help. And there was the book that she had purchased from Juliana Barnes. She opened it and looked at the rows of numbers, written in Strauss' own hand. Of course she had this information saved in digital form, but the original was precious, not for what it contained, but for what it was. She put the hard drive and book in the inside pocket of her jacket. The book was her last link to Doctor Strauss.

She went to the vault door, and told the fat man that he could put the safe deposit box away.

V

Ryan stood before his own apartment door for the first time in many months, wondering who it was who said that you can't go home again. Was it F Scott Fitzgerald or D H Lawrence? Joe would have known. Well, here he was, and he knew that the old place wasn't going to be the same. For one thing, it was now Gwen's. She had stayed here after his "death". For another, there was a pair of agents guarding the door. And he wondered, honestly, how welcome he was going to be.

She opened the door, wearing a loose white tunic with lines of small gray and brown squares printed across it, jeans, and slip on sneakers. Her hair was up in a bun. She wasn't wearing any makeup. She had never, he decided, looked so beautiful.

"I should have called," he began. "I wanted to..." He stopped, not knowing what to say. What had he wanted to do? Pick up where he left off like nothing had ever happened? See her before he went to prison?

"It's OK. Come on in."

He stepped inside, and saw that the place had been redecorated bottom to top. It was lighter now, and seemed airier The walls had been repainted in a kind of cream color. The TV had been moved to a stand in the corner. Blue drapes. And his son was laying in a crib by the couch.

She gestured at the couch. "Sit down, please. Can I get you anything?"

"No, we just took Max out to breakfast."

"How is she? The Bureau was accusing her of something."

"That's been cleared up. She got captured by some people. Mike and I rescued her. They shot her full of some kind of dope, but she's OK. She's home now."

"And how are you?" she asked. "You look like you've lost weight."

"I'm good. Mike said you were living here now, and I wanted to see you and Ryan."

"I know it's different," she explained. "I stayed here because it was bigger, and well, there were going to be two of us. Max took some of your furniture when she and Mike moved, but I'm afraid we sold most of it. The Joe room is now a nursery. And Max cleaned out that arsenal you had."

"It looks good. I'm glad you kept it. And I'm glad the Joe room has been shut down for good. It was way past time."

"Yes it was. So are you back to stay now?"

"I don't know," he replied. "I want to be. I'm probably going to be in some trouble. Right now I'm taking things day by day."

"May I ask you something?"

"Sure."

"When you left, how were you planning to come back?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well, you mentioned something about coming back when this organization was destroyed. But you were dead, with dead in quotation marks. So how were you planning to come back? What were you going to say about where you'd been?"

He thought for a moment. "I was going to say that I was too drunk to remember where I'd been."

"That actually might have worked," she laughed.

"I didn't really think about it at the time. I just wanted to disappear to keep the two of you safe. Later, I realized that I'd really burned all my bridges. I couldn't really come up with an explanation. So I guess there never was a plan."

"So if there was no plan..."

"I would have thought of something."

"No," she said. "You weren't coming back. Ever."

He sat staring at the crib that held his son. "For a long time I told myself that If I could just know that you were safe, then I could live with that. I'd go somewhere. Start over if I had to. But I couldn't. Not really."

"So you left thinking that there was no way home, ever. That it was a one way trip."

"I loved you. I still do. And I'd do anything."

"Where are you staying right now?"

"I've got a place down in Rockaway. A safe house."

"Well maybe you better go and get your stuff."

He stared at her for a moment, as if he wasn't quite certain that he'd heard her correctly. "My stuff?"

"Yes. You know. Your toothbrush and everything."

"I don't really have a lot of stuff."

"Well, then, we'll have to go out and get you some stuff."

He looked around the room, as if searching for some reason why she should throw him out. He found none, and finally looked her in the face. "I want to come home. But I don't know what's going to happen."

"We never do. But I know you love me, because you were willing to give up everything for me. You said you would do anything."

"I would."

"Change diapers? Go to ball games? Things will change. It's not like falling off a bridge. Sometimes it's a lot harder."

"I want things to change," he said. "I want to change. I know that if I actually show up and be a father that nothing will ever be the same again. And that's exactly what I want."

Ryan Junior expressed his disapproval of this plan by crying. Gwen went to his crib and leaned down to see what was wrong.

"Well, it looks like you showed up just in time to learn about changing diapers."

Ryan joined Gwen at the side of the crib. "I can do this. So we hose him off in the sink, right?"

She shook her head in mock sadness. "You are going to make me miserable."

From Ryan's pocket came the sound of a ringtone. "Saved by the bell," Gwen commented, and began changing Ryan Junior.

"Ryan Hardy"

"Ryan, it's Dan. I need you to come into the office."

"Do I need to bring an attorney with me?"

"Not yet. We need to talk about this serial killer organization. We've been able to confirm some of your and Weston's information. It looks like this is huge. We need to find Eliza. Anything you can tell us about these people would help."

"I'm on the way." He put his phone back in his pocket. "I'm sorry, I have to go."

"Are you being arrested?" Gwen asked.

"No. They need some information. Normal is coming, I promise. But right now..."

"Go"

He hesitated for a moment, afraid that there was an unspoken "and don't come back" that went with that.

"We'll be here when you get back.. Just remember that it's different now. You have people waiting for you. You have someone to come home to . So come home."

"I will."

He put his arms around her, and as he held her close, he looked over her shoulder at his son. The war wasn't over, but it had changed in one night. And for the first time, he felt like he was going to win.

VI

. "He knew what he was looking for," The detective explained. " He entered a couple of these offices and removed hard drives from some computers. He took some documents as well. We're talking to some of the employees and trying to get an inventory of what's missing. Given that this outfit does defense contracting we automatically called the Bureau."

The detective, a man with curly brown hair going gray and a bushy moustache named Canfil, pointed at the two corpses, now covered with bloodstained sheets. "They were in the reception area when the killer got off the elevator," he explained. "They went to see who it was, and they were dead right there."

"That's a lot of spent brass," Mike commented. Looks like a fully automatic weapon."

"Compact submachine gun," Canfil, explained. "He had it under his coat."

"How do you know there was only one?" Mike asked

"From the security video," Canfil said .

"We'll put it through facial recognition," Dennis suggested.

"No you won't. You can't see the killer's face on camera. Because it glows."

VII

They sat in a break room down the hall, using Dennis' laptop to watch a DVD recorded by the video surveillance system. The elevator door opened, and a man stepped out, placing a briefcase in the elevator door to keep it from closing. He opened his coat and brought out what looked like a compact submachinegun. The DVD showed him killing the two guards, and showed him going through the offices, removing documents and hard drives. But his face could not be seen, because a kind of glowing red light covered it, making his features barely visible.

Canfil had joined them and was rewatching the video. "You ever see anything like that?" he asked.

"Never," Mike replied. It looks like a special effect from a movie."

"Maybe we've been invaded by aliens," Dennis offered.

"I hope that's a joke," Canfil remarked.

Dennis remained focused on the screen in front of him. "I have no sense of humor that I am aware of," he deadpanned, trying his best to imitate Tommy Lee Jones.

Mike pointed at the screen. "It looks sort of like he's wearing glasses. You can just barely see them."

Dennis' fingers suddenly flew across the keyboard. "Shit. I know what that is." The video disappeared to be replaced with a browser window. He entered something in the search box, and screen full of images appeared Dennis clicked on one that showed a man wearing what looked like a helmet that glowed with the same kind of red light as the person in the video.

"I've read about these," Dennis explained, "but I've never seen them until now."

"What is it?" Mike asked.

"Near infrared LEDs. You know the old trick where, if a room is bugged, you turn on a tap, or you have some other kind of white nose in the background? It works because microphones are less sensitive than the human ear. They can't distinguish between sounds. These goggles are fitted with LEDs that emit in the near infrared part of the spectrum. It obscures what the camera sees. It's a way to defeat facial recognition software. I've never heard of one of these things being used for real. It would explain why whoever it was worked alone. One guy wearing these is kind of weird looking, especially if they're switched on, but maybe he could pass. A group would stand out like a sore thumb."

Mike leaned forward in his seat, staring intently at the picture. "So he used it because he knew there would be cameras."

"Who has these things?" Canfil asked.

"I don't know," Mike said. "Could you step outside for a second?"

"Yeah, but I hope you're planning to tell us what this is at some point."

Canfil got up and expressed his annoyance by closing the door on the way out a bit harder than necessary. "So that's what we're up against," Dennis commented. "Military grade firepower, equipment straight out of Q Section, and highly organized serial killers plugged into government resources."

"Welcome to my world," Mike grinned. "OK, the tech is impressive, but this was clumsy and it was risky. They're desperate to find Eliza. I think she's double crossed everyone at this point, and they've finally figured that out."

"Well, if they're that desperate to find her," Dennis suggested, "then maybe she'd be interested in finding us."

"You mean make a deal?" Mike asked. "No way would they give her immunity. Not after what she's done."

"Maybe it would be enough to offer some kind of a reduced sentence"

"You're not seriously in favor of that."

"I want her to get the needle," Dennis replied. "But they might offer a deal, if they thought there was no other way to take this outfit apart."

"Max would go ballistic. Well, before we can do anything or offer anything, we have to find her. And they're probably two steps ahead of us. What scares me is what happens if she makes it out of the country, and Max decides to go chasing after her."

"You really think she would?"

"I did, when it was Mark Gray. Speaking of things I'm not too proud of. Eliza really got under her skin. It's almost like Ryan and Joe all over again. Those who don't learn from the past are condemned to repeat it."

"So what do we do?"Dennis asked.

"We put out an all points on Moses and get back into those computers."

VIII

She was packing for the flight when the call came. She'd had an early breakfast, and had eaten well since experience had taught her that airplane food was never very good on domestic flights, no matter how much you paid for the ticket. Worse, your flight was very likely going to be delayed. An open suitcase sat on her sleigh bed. She was packing light. Her equipment was stored at the House. It wouldn't do to take that sort of thing on a plane, even in her checked baggage.

She was tall, with shoulder length dark hair and brown eyes. She moved like the ballet dancer that she had trained to be and the model that she could have been. Her grace and athleticism made her look younger than her 51 years.

The drapes of her bedroom window were open. Windows, actually. A French door could be opened onto the balcony outside her bedroom. Two large windows set on either side of it meant that with the drapes open, the whole wall consisted mostly of panes of glass and commanded a magnificent view of the half of the 2.7 acre lot behind the house. She was just zipping up her bag when her phone signaled that she had received a text. She picked it up off the night stand where it was charging and checked. She didn't recognize the number, but that meant nothing she opened the message.

CALL JUSTIN AT 631-305-8812

Justin was a code name. It meant an urgent request to make contact. The number would be a burner. She immediately dialed, and got an answer on the first ring.

"Laura, it's Clayton. How are you?"

"Fine. I was just packing for the trip to the House. What's wrong?"

"We need to meet face to face. Something's come up. Something I can't discuss on an open line."

"Where and when?"

"Fort Putnam Park, the gate by Enderby Avenue. An hour and a half."

"What is this about?"

"We have an issue with one of our suppliers. I'll explain it when I see you."

"I'll be there."

"Thank you."

She disconnected the phone from its charger, and went to get her coat.

IX

When Ryan arrived at headquarters, he was met in the lobby by a woman in her late thirties with short strawberry blonde hair and freckles. "Mister Hardy," it's good to see you again. "Do you remember me?"

"Amy Hendricks. You were in a class I taught at Quantico."

"Actually it's Klesko now. I got married not long after you...left. But thank you for remembering." She handed him a visitor's badge, white, with a prominent red V on it. "I worked with Max for a short while . I'm really glad she's coming back. Mister Shelby is waiting for you. This way." Ryan knew damn well, of course, where Dan's office was, but Amy clearly had orders not to let him out of her sight while he was in the building.

Shelby was behind his desk, poring over a printout. He motioned Ryan to a seat. "Is Weston back yet?" he asked Amy.

"I think I saw him come in a few minutes ago. He was with Dennis Fuchida."

"Have him join us, please. Close the door behind you."

"So it's all true," Shelby said, when Amy had gone.

"It's all true.'

"We kicked in the door at her penthouse first thing this morning. Of course we didn't find anything. And we hit that place where Max was taken. They were long gone. We've been able to confirm that this human trafficker, Varku, exists. He was last reported to be in Albania. What about Mrs. Hermanson?"

"That would be Laura Hermanson. She lives in Muttontown, in a house valued at 4.8 million. Her late husband Eric Hermanson left a pharmaceutical business.. They don't actually sell enough to support the lifestyle to which she is accustomed. Fortunately, human trafficking pays good. The company makes a good explanation for where she got the money. They've developed some gene therapies that don't work all that well. Their big seller is a drug that goes for a huge markup because the FDA won't approve any competing drug, and they have a monopoly. The late Mr. Hermanson was very well connected. I don't know if Mr Hermanson was ever part of the Organization. He may have been, I wasn't able to confirm that. But his wife handles a lot of their supply chain. She deals with the wranglers, the people who supply victims."

"How do you know this?"

"From an informant."

"This informant have name?"

"He did when he was alive."

"As in before you made him talk and killed him."

"Before they got on the fact that he was an informant, and made him talk about me, and then killed him."

"Did this hypothetical informant give you anything that might get us a search warrant?"

"I'm afraid not."

"Well that kind of sucks from the Bureau's point of view, but then you never worried much about search warrants even when you worked here."

Ryan made no reply. Shelby must have known, when he called him in, that if he had anything that would get them a warrant, he would have given it to them by now. So he was working himself up to asking for something. Let him decide when to reveal what that was.

A knock on the door signaled Mike's arrival. "Come in, " Shelby said.

Mike entered, and did a double take when he saw Ryan.

"Well?" Shelby asked.

"It was one guy," Mike reported, "with a submachine gun. They've got some kind of device, like a pair of glasses. Dennis says it's near infrared LEDs. I'd never heard of that before. They can use it to defeat facial recognition. He killed two guards, and went through the place. We're trying to enhance the video so we make out his face, but I think it's hopeless. My guess is this is some kind of spy tech developed by our own spooks."

"Ryan was telling me that Mrs. Hermanson has a Long Island address. He's been aware of her for some time, but hasn't got anything that could get us a warrant. So I'd like Ryan to assist you. Maybe you can develop something actionable."

"Actionable?" Mike asked.

"As in we could get a warrant," Shelby replied.

Mike screwed his best poker face on before replying. "Sure. We'll get right on it."

"Good. Keep me informed. And Ryan..."

"Yes?"

"The State's been on the phone this morning. They want your ass over the shootouts and the weapons charges. You're not in a cell because I told them you're a CI in a Federal investigation. Think of this as double secret probation. Don't give me a reason to hand you over."

"I won't"

"We'll keep you posted," Mike said. "Thanks." When he and Ryan had retreated a safe distance down the hall, he stopped and turned to Ryan. "Don't think of this as probation. Think of this as being like Mission Impossible. If we get caught doing what Shelby knows we're about to do, he'll disavow both of us."

"It cool," Ryan assured him. "I'm not gonna self destruct this time."

"I need to talk to Dennis for a second."

"OK"

Dennis was in front of a computer terminal in a small office near the Command Center. The door was behind him, and he turned to see who it was when Mike walked in. "I was just telling Shelby what we found," Mike explained. "Can you do me a favor?"

"Sure"

"When Max comes in, keep an eye on her. I'm going to be out for a while with Ryan."

"Where are you going?", Dennis asked, looking at Ryan suspiciously.

"Lunch"

"Oh. Well, bon appetit."

As Mike turned to leave, Dennis added "And don't so anything I wouldn't do."

They began walking towards the exit to the parking deck. "So what's the plan?" Mike asked.

"We'll start with her house."

"Remember the part about we don't have a warrant?"

"We'll get a consent warrant," Ryan explained.

"Consent warrant?"

"Yeah. You knock on the front door, and I run around the back and yell come in."

X

Lafayette Park wasn't really a park, but a one way street than ran south from Mendler with Fort Putnam Park on one side and a row of brownstones on the other. A low wall separated the park from the rest of Long Island, and where Enderby Avenue intersected with Lafayette, a break in the stone wall allowed a few stone steps to lead up into the park. Once inside, visitors could follow brick sidewalks to their choice of the tennis courts, a pond, a monument to the Continental Army, or a number of other attractions. Or a visitor might just go running along the shaded sidewalks around the park, enjoying a beautiful morning, getting his exercise, and stopping only to curse the dog poop he had just stepped in.

Laura was walking up Enderby towards the stairs that led into the park, watching the jogger ahead vainly attempting to use the edge of the brick walkway as a scraper. She didn't see the Chairman anywhere, but she was a few minutes early, and he wasn't going to be found waiting for her. She'd be waiting for him. That's how it was dealing with Clayton.

She crossed Lafayette looking to the right for oncoming traffic. It was three lanes wide, but parking on the street was allowed here, and the left and right sides of the road were taken up with rows of parked cars. She decided that waiting right by the gate was a little conspicuous, and turned left down the brick walkway towards a massive oak a short distance away. She could wait there for Clayton to show himself.

XI

The spotter stood near the steps that led up the brownstone behind him. He wore a black insulated coat that zipped up front, jeans, and a black watch cap. There was a hands free phone in his ear. On the other end of the connection was Raleigh, lying prone in the trunk of the dark brown Crown Victoria a short distance down the street. The car had been modified so that the trunk could be accessed from the back seat. A small port had been cut in the trunk lid that allowed a concealed marksman to shoot from inside the vehicle.

From the pictures he had studied, the spotter recognized Laura crossing Lafayette. "She's here," he murmured into the phone stuck in his ear. "Dark blue coat, scarf, sunglasses. She's across now. She's on the steps."

XII

Raleigh opened the firing port in the trunk, sliding it up, and easing the muzzle of his silenced AR into position. The ground here sloped up gently from the road, and he could easily make out his victim over the low wall. Laura was striding towards an oak tree nearby. He didn't want her to get to it, since it might become cover and spoil his shot. He took careful aim, and squeezed off one shot. The bullet hit Laura just above her left eye. She pitched backwards, hitting the ground below the top of the stone wall. No second shot was necessary.

Raleigh decided, on the spur of the moment, that it would be best if this didn't look like a targeted killing, so he should muddy the waters for the press. A jogger was shaking his right leg just past where Laura had fallen. He turned to see what had happened. Raleigh fired a second shot. Because the man was in motion, Raleigh's aim was slightly off, but the shot still caught the jogger in the upper chest and severed his windpipe. For good measure, Raleigh panned to the right a bit, and saw a young woman approaching the gate from inside the park, pushing a stroller. He considered a moment. The woman, or her child?

The woman was in her mid twenties, a floppy black felt hat on her head, her chestnut hair falling past her shoulders. She was, Raleigh decided, quite beautiful. At the sight of the two people bleeding on the ground, she stopped, frozen in shock. He momentary halt made her a perfect target. Raleigh made his decision then. His bullet hit her chest dead center, passing through her heart.

Less than a minute passed before Raleigh heard the driver's side door open. The spotter was getting in. The engine started, and he felt the car begin to move, carefully observing the 15 mile an hour speed limit so as not to draw unwanted attention.

XI

She sat in the chair, too weak to fight against the restraining straps, her eyes hurting from the combination of harsh light stabbing into her dilated pupils, and the sting of her own sweat. She could see, through a teary cataract, Eliza sitting behind the desk, studying the readouts on the laptop before her, a smile on her face. "The bad news," she said, in a voice that seemed to be coming through a long tube, "is that I already know everything. If this was an interrogation, you'd have a way to make it stop. But we both know the truth. You just refuse to accept it. You got your friend killed. He's dead because of you. You failed everyone. Gwen. Jim. Little Ryan. Zack Coleman. You turned him, remember. And led him to his death. Even Mike. The love of your life. Remember how he was stabbed right in front of you? You just watched it happen, and did nothing. So much fail. I guess it's a good thing I'm your enemy. It's safer than being your friend."

Eliza got up, walked to the side of the chair, and adjusted he IV feeding drugs into the vein of her right hand. Eliza reached down and brushed some hair back from her sweat slick face. "It's OK, Max. I have plenty of time. I'll just fly away and come back for Gwen and little Ryan later."

Max came awake lying on her side, facing towards a window with ivory colored drapes. She lay frozen, unable to move, unable to scream, her heart hammering away as if it were frantically trying to burst its way out of her chest. The window she recognized as hers. So was the bedroom. She wondered for a moment how she'd gotten there.

 _I clicked my heels three times, and said "There's no place like home"._

She reached for her phone to check the time, wondering how long she had before she had to be up. She looked at the screen. Oh God, she should have been up hours ago. Why hadn't the alarm gone off? She was sure she remembered setting it.

Because Mike. _If I didn't love him, I'd kill him._ She was up out of bed like a shot. She looked around the room, trying to decide what to do first. She needed to be at work. She dove into her closet and found a suit, charcoal gray, with a white shirt. There was no time to fix anything to eat, but she had some energy bars stashed away in the kitchen for times like this, and she could stop for coffee on the way.

XII

Highway 106 ran south from Oyster Bay, probably because it couldn't afford to live there. A series of dead end roads and cul de sacs branched off it, leading to some of the most expensive homes in the Eastern United States. Mike drove a black Chevy Caprice down a tree lined four lane highway divided by a grassy median. Someone had set the GPS voice to a woman with an Australian accent. The GPS voice reminded him of the approaching turnoff, Caldcleugh Road. She pronounced it Cold-clew. Mike hadn't been sure of the pronunciation, and wondered if Australians pronounced the word the same way Americans did.

"Caldcleugh takes a right angle turn to the right," Ryan explained. "Mrs Hermanson lives on a corner lot, inside that bend.. The place has a pool and a pool house, and the pool house has it's own separate driveway."

"You've been here?" Mike asked.

"I've been by it. I was looking the place over."

"You're sure they won't recognize you?"

"I altered my appearance, and I didn't hang around long. It was over a month ago."

"OK. I uh...I have a backup piece."

"I know," Ryan said. "You're wearing an ankle holster."

Mike looked at Ryan for a moment, surprise on his face. "You spotted that?"

"Of course," Ryan replied. "I guess you stopped by your locker before you went to Shelby's office."

"Well on the off chance Shelby brought you in, I was going to let you carry it. Assuming, that is, that I can trust you not to shoot anyone or anything that gets me in hot water."

Ryan grinned without answering. "I'm getting married," Mike reminded him. "I'd like to still have a job."

"It's OK," Ryan replied. "I already have a gun."

"Are you mental? You're probably facing State charges, and you're out buying illegal guns?"

"It's one of those nines I bought from Holman on the way here."

"Jesus. Do the world a favor. Now that you're out of the vigilante business, call ATF and drop a dime on that guy so they can get him and his guns off the street."

"He's already off the street for good."

"Do I want to know?"

"No," Ryan said. "They say when guns are outlawed, only outlaws will have guns. So now there's one less outlaw. The point is I can shoot the place up without getting you in trouble." When Mike shot him a look of alarm, he added "Well, not too much trouble, anyway. Here's your turnoff."

Mike slowed and turned to the right. A short distance down the road, Ryan pointed at a driveway ahead on the right that was barely visible for the trees that lined the road. "Let me out here."

Mike began slowing to a stop. "That looks like the pool house."

"Yeah, I'll walk up to the back while you drive around. Knock on the front door, and I'll yell something like 'She needs a doctor'".***

"This really works better with people who don't know the law and are kind of intimidated by badges. These people have actual lawyers."

"If we had more time, we could be more sophisticated. You want to pretend to be traveling salesmen?"

Mike brought the car to a stop "I don't think they'd buy a used car, or much of anything else from either one of us."

"Speak for yourself," Ryan said as he opened the car door. "I'm really good at persuasion." he got out and closed the door behind him.

"That's what I'm afraid of," Mike muttered under his breath, as Ryan walked up the pool house driveway towards the back of the two story mansion. Mike drove around the corner towards the driveway of the main house.

The house was brick, two story, in a style that would have been called Colonial, as if houses in colonial times had tennis courts, swimming pools, and a pool houses with their own separate driveway. The main driveway was short but wide and circled around an island of stones set into the concrete in the shape of an eight pointed star, with a circular flower bed in the center. Mike pulled up to the front of the house. The herringbone brick porch was barely above ground level. He stared at the dark wood double doors a moment before knocking, wanting to make sure Ryan had time to get into position. He rang the bell, but then knocked sharply on the door to make sure that Ryan could hear him, or pretend to. There was no answer. He rang and knocked again. Still no answer. And where was Ryan?

Mike knocked a third time, and rang the bell again. "FBI!" he shouted. "We need to talk to you!" He had decided that no one was home, when he heard Ryan's shout from the other side of the house.

"She's been shot! We need the cops!"

Shot? Well that was a new wrinkle on an old trick. Mike applied foot to door, and found himself in a vast, two story entrance foyer. He was facing twin curving staircases with elaborate wrought iron railings on the other side of a wide expanse of marble floor beneath an ornate chandelier. The marble was white, except where it was stained red by the blood of the dead woman at the foot of the right hand staircase. She was dark haired and olive skinned, wearing a maid's uniform. It was hard to tell her age with her lying face down.

"Ryan!" Mike shouted. "Where are you?"

"Back here," Ryan called back.

Mike found his way back through the house, following Ryan's voice. He found Ryan in the kitchen. A second dead woman was lying just outside the house. She had been shot while taking a sackful of garbage. The trees surrounding the house shielded the dead body from view.

"I thought you were just being creative," Mike said, staring at the corpse of the woman lying outside.

"I don't think I'm as creative as the people who did this."

"They'll have gone through the house," Mike said, "just like they did Eliza's office. Every move we make they're one step ahead of us." He reached into his pocket for his phone. "I'll call Shelby."

"Maybe Mrs. Hermanson's body is upstairs," Ryan said dejectedly. 'Or maybe they took her."

"Hey, it's Mike Weston. We're at Mrs. Hermanson's, and they've already hit the place. Everyone's dead. We haven't found her body yet, and..." he paused, listening. "Right. We'll be there, just as soon as we get the police here."

Mike put his phone away, and turned to Ryan. "Mrs. Hermanson's body isn't in the house. It's in Fort Putnam Park. They killed her, and two innocent bystanders. They're erasing everything. There's gonna be no witnesses. No evidence. Nothing left to find."

XIII

The window of the Chairman's hotel commanded a magnificent view of Central Park, but he paid it no attention as he paced the floor waiting for his contact to call. Raleigh had already checked in and reported that Mrs Herman had been dealt with. Not that the Chairman hadn't already guessed. There was little on the news besides the Putnam Park shootings.

The Blackberry on the room's work desk struck up a musical ringtone. He recognized the number as his contact. "Have you seen the news?" he asked without preliminary.

"Yes, I'm watching it now."

"Raleigh goes too far sometimes. I'll have to talk to him."

"Not necessarily," his contact replied. " A lone victim becomes the object of media scrutiny, especially if it's a woman. This way, she's just one more victim of the latest mass shooting."

"Well, it's messy. I don't like this much collateral damage. What have you learned about the FBI investigation?"

"They've raided Fairfax, and are looking for proof of the Organization's existence. We have to prepare for the worst. We have to sterilize the House. And we need to prepare an escape plan for you, just in case."

"Agreed. But I've had a thought. When Eliza prepared her escape plan, she didn't know that Ryan Hardy's team would kill Theo. Or recover his laptop. Or that Max Hardy would manage to hack her way into it. Which means that she also didn't know that Mrs Hermanson would be compromised. Now Eliza was the one who set up our supply chain, but she turned a lot of that sort of thing over to Mrs Hermanson. Which means that as far as Eliza knows, our suppliers are all still secure, and unknown to the FBI. Now is it possible that she might use one of her own traffickers to help her make her escape?"

"I hadn't thought of that," his contact replied. "But I think it's worth a shot."

" Then I'll tell Raleigh to get busy shaking doors."

XIV

A uniformed guard conducted Max through the building, as she had neither badge nor credentials. He knew who she was, of course, but procedure was procedure. Shelby was in his office. "Sir," the guard said, "she's here."

"Welcome back," Shelby said, indicating a nearby chair. She sat, and the guard left, closing the door behind him. Shelby opened a desk drawer and took out her badge and credentials."Here. They found these when they went through your locker. Glad you put them someplace safe."

"Yes sir. I lost my gun though. I'll pay for it."

"Like hell. I've already signed a waiver on the property responsibility, and an armory requisition . All you have to do is go pick up your new one and sign for it. Why do you think we'd make you pay for it?"

"We're responsible for them", she said, simply. "It was my fault." She reached for her creds. As she did, Shelby noticed the marks on her hands.

"Don't be so hard on yourself. You didn't...Christ, are those needle tracks?"

"Yeah. I'm fit for duty. Whatever they gave me wore off a long time ago."

"Well, we're going to need a statement from you. Everything that happened."

"Yes, sir. But if it's OK, I'd like to put that off. I'd really like to help out with those laptops. We need to get Eliza before she makes it to a nonextradition country."

Shelby regarded her doubtfully for a moment. "OK, you can help Fuchida."

"Thank you. Where's Mike?"

"He's in the field. Mrs. Hermanson is dead. She was murdered on Long Island this morning. Mike's on it. Ryan's with him."

"Ryan's with Mike?"

"Yeah. I let myself get talked into it, and I hope to Christ it doesn't blow up in my face. Anyway, it's good to have you back."

"Thank you sir. It's good to be home."

XV

When Max left Shelby's office, she considered briefly his offer of a new Bureau issue gun, but decided against it. She's decided that she liked her Shield. Ryan had a long history of getting away with carrying nonissue weapons. Maybe she'd make it a family tradition. Besides, she wanted to be after Eliza, not down in the armory filling out the paperwork.

She found Dennis in an office near Command studying a computer screen. Theo's hard drive was connected to his computer by a SATA cable. He looked up from his screen when she entered. "Hey, you. Welcome back. Mike said you'd be in."

"I would have been in sooner. My alarm didn't go off."

"Yeah, I hate when that happens." He pointed at a closed up laptop sitting on a table nearby. "Your laptop is over there, I brought it in with Theo's Mike told me to keep an eye on it. Sit down, I want to show you something."

She rolled a chair away from a nearby terminal and took a seat beside Dennis. The screen in front of him was covered with lines of code.

"What's that?" she asked.

"We called Cyber Response, and had them start digging into any and all software the Government had purchased from RCS. They found that. It's Opticon Scintil. They're digging it out of the personnel database."

"So that's it. I think Theo wrote it."

"I can believe it," Dennis agreed. "It's a highly advanced piece of spyware. Cyber Response says they've never seen anything like it. The name seemed kind of vaguely familiar when I heard it. I think I know now what it means."

"I thought it was just some kind of random code name."

"No. I think it's a reference to Captain Video."

"Who's that?" she asked.

"The first science fiction show that was ever on television.," Dennis explained. "Captain Video and the Video Rangers. The Captain had some pretty advanced tech, including the Opticon Scintillomter. It was a kind of remote viewing device. It allowed him to spy on anyone, anywhere. He used it so help solve crimes."

The thought of someone spying on total strangers anytime anywhere made Max think of Kyle and Daisy and their damned cameras. "That sounds kinda pervy," she said.

"You think that's pervy, he also carried a Cosmic Vibrator."

"Do I even want to ask what that did?"

"It was his primary weapon, and it shook people to death."

"Well that's really fascinating, but it doesn't tell us much of anything useful."

" It tells us that under it all, Theo was just a big old geek. You know, I bet he was secretly a Trekkie. Anyway, it kind of makes me wonder about this other code name I've found."

'Which is?"

"Selachim."

"That's the scientific name for the superorder of sharks."

Dennis turned and looked at Max for a moment, a faint smile on his face. "I didn't know you were an ichthyologist."

"I didn't know you were a Trekkie."

"Not Trek. B5. How do you know this?"

"I thought everyone knew this."

"Seriously."

"It was Theo's nick when he chatted online with Coleman."

"Well, there's something in here called Selachim Updater. I can't figure out what it does, because it's got it's own separate password protection. So maybe you run it and it totally updates your shark."

She rolled her chair back to the vacant terminal. "Or it totally updates Theo. I'm going to break into this thing."

Her fingers flew across the keyboard. She stopped for a moment, and turned back to Dennis. "And thanks."

"For?"

"For believing in me. Mike told me you thought all along I was framed. That you were asking questions about Galen."

"I knew from the start that you weren't a mole. I didn't really know Galen was until that guy tried to kill me."

"Kill you? I've been kind of out of the loop for a few days. Who tried to kill you?"

"Some guy, last night. In a parking deck. He had something like a medical bag full of antique surgical tools. He's in jail. I think someone sent him because I was asking about Galen."

"Has he been interviewed?"

"I don't think so."

"We found out that Eliza has a master list of all Strauss students. If she sent a guy to take you out, then odds are he's one of Strauss' little munchkins. Call NYPD. Find out who he is. Then start finding out where he's been. I'll break into this shark updater, or whatever it is, and then we'll go talk to him."

"Are you planning to clear this with Shelby first?"

"I'm not gonna ask, because he might say no. This guy's had contact with Eliza, and I need to find her."

"You mean we need to find her," Dennis replied. "As in the Bureau needs to find her."

"That too. Look, I understand. You don't have to do this"

"For the record, this sounds like a bad idea. But I know that look. You're gonna do what you're gonna do. So I'm with you." He reached for his phone and began dialing the NYPD homicide division.

Max turned to her terminal and called up a display of the contents of Theo's hard drive. She navigated to a folder called Selachim Updater. She could hear Dennis next to her asking about "that suspect from the parking deck". She fetched her laptop and began booting it up. She had a few hacker tools that might help. When her desktop appeared, she plugged the SATA cable to Theo's hard drive into her computer and set to work. "I'm back, bitch," she said quietly. "And I'm coming for you."

Musical Interlude - Not Over Till We Say So by Blue Stahli

* The FBI is more secretive than the US military about their aircraft deployments. Even the number of locations from which FBI aircraft are based is classified. I have assumed that some FBI aircraft are based at La Guardia, as the location seems reasonable.

UAV = Unmanned Aerial Vehicle In other words, a drone. Yes, the FBI uses drones (Unarmed) for surveillance.

The term chalk is military in origin. It means the troops that will fit into any one given aircraft. Since aircraft vary in capacity, chalks can vary in size.

Shotguns are mostly a bad guy weapon in Hollywood. There are cases on record of networks refusing to allow the good guys on cop shows to be shown with shotguns on the grounds that their appearance is too brutal. (Assault rifles, on the other hand, are considered to be some combination of not too threatening and way cool. Go figure.) In real life, the 12 gauge pump action shotgun is the universal shoulder weapon among American law enforcement, and one is issued to every FBI agent. The shotgun's brutal appearance gives it a lot of intimidation value, which is useful to law enforcement, and if push comes to shove its close range killing power is unequaled.

Jessica Stroup once said in an interview that she loved doing the helicopter scenes in The Following, so I decided that Max liked riding in helicopters.

** Rabbit Tools are used by firefighters, paramedics, rescue workers, and law enforcement when they need to open a door in a hurry. They can exert up to 8,000 pounds of force. Not too many doors can withstand that.

*** I've never heard of the FBI using this old dodge, but the US Marshal's service has, and so have various police departments.

31


	22. 22 - There's Someone I Need To Kill Pt1

Disclaimer: It's fanfic, meaning I don't own anything or make any money off of it. It's a labor of love. Please don't sue me.

This chapter is rated T. Apart from some language, I don't think there's anything here that wouldn't pass muster on an episode of The Following. If you're old enough to watch The Following, you're old enough to read this, but it is The Following so standard disclaimers apply. Expect some violence, dark themes, and general unpleasantness.

No FBI agents or serial killers were harmed in the writing of this fic.

I note a lot of hits coming from France recently, so welcome to my French readers. Thanks for visiting, and I hope you enjoy your stay.

So after all this time, it's come down to this. I'm putting up two chapters at once because...well, you'll see when you read it. And I realize that this is a long chapter, but there's a lot of ground to cover. But maybe it is kind of fitting. The Following ended it's run with a double episode. So does Terudom.

Because this chapter ended up being so long, I decided to split it into two documents. I know there are people who read these fics on tablets or other devices with small screens, and it can be tough to keep track of your place. Rather than put up a chapter that runs to nearly 17,000 words, I'm splitting this up. It's one chapter, but for ease of reading it will display as Chapter 22 parts 1 and 2.

I'd like to thank Stunspored for permission to use the phrase "personal Joe". Stunspored, your feedback has been invaluable, from early on. Thank you so much for everything you have contributed. If you're ever in North Carolina, look me up.

And thanks to everyone who sent feedback. The fanfic writer walks a lonely road. You don't get paid, and most people just don't understand. So it's always good to hear from the readers. It helps us to keep going. So remember, if you're reading this, that feedback, positive or negative, is always welcome. Thanks to all my readers, wherever in this creepy world of ours you live, for coming along for the ride. I hope you enjoyed it.

And as always, don't try anything you read here at home.

Chapter 22 - There's Someone I Need To Kill

Part 1

The narrow two lane street was blocked by the NYPD, and traffic was being rerouted down other narrow two lane streets that had been too crowded to begin with. Drivers were cursing whoever had carried out this latest atrocity and calling their families to reassure them that while they might be late, they hadn't been caught in a shooting gallery. A news crew was set up on the corner, and a bleach blonde reporter was having herself filmed with blue lights and police tape in the background. Mike wondered if she was the same one Don Henley had sung about. Probably not, he decided. The original would be long since retired, but they were replaceable and interchangeable.

"Maybe I should get out here," Ryan said, as Mike slowed to a stop. Even with a blue light, traffic was moving at a crawl, because there wasn't much of any place to pull off.

"Why?" Mike asked.

"I don't have creds, and there's press all over hell. NYPD wants me under an alias. And there could be reporters around who remember me from way back when. If I'm recognized, it might be a problem."

"The Organization has to know you're cooperating. They gotta still have eyes on the inside."

Ryan scanned the sidewalk on his side of he car."The Organization knows, but the media doesn't. It's better if I can still move around discreetly. I can help you more. If I get made, I'm benched"

"I wouldn't worry about it," Mike said, grinning. He pointed at the blonde reporter, who was breathlessly talking into the camera. . "The talking heads are too busy talking to notice anything, and besides, you're old news."

II

Mike and Ryan got out the Caprice, which the police had allowed to pass the roadblock. They parked in the middle of the street between an NYPD Crime Scene Unit van and an ambulance. Mike looked around, and spotted a knot of police officers standing near a park entrance a short distance down the road. As he got closer, he could see bodies covered by sheets. An ambulance was parked close to the low stairs leading into the park. The rear door was closed, so he couldn't see if anyone was inside.

A plainclothes cop with wire rimmed glasses and a knit cap looked in Mike's direction, and noticing his FBI raid jacket, motioned him over. "Weston, FBI. This is Agent Smith."

"Lieutenant Marchand," the detective said. "We think the shooter was in a vehicle on Lafayette Park," he said. "Maybe a van or a pickup. He opened fire and killed three people. No one saw the shooter or heard the shots." He pointed at a heavyset man with a dark beard and a Yankees baseball cap. "That guy says he saw a Middle Eastern looking guy hanging around right before the shooting started, and he also saw him running away, but he didn't see a weapon."

"Running away from a mass shooting doesn't make you a suspect," Mike replied. "Even if you're from the Middle East."

"I know how it is with the Bureau. It's never terrorism until it is."

Mike shook his head in disgust. "We got word that a woman named Laura Hermanson was killed. Where is she?"

"Over here."

Mrs. Hermanson had fallen face up. Blood had pooled beneath her head where the high velocity bullet had blown out the back of her skull..

"Let's get her phone," Ryan said. Mike slipped on a pair of blue nitrile gloves and carefully went through her pockets, but found nothing.

"Has anyone searched her?" he asked. "Gone through her purse?"

"We looked at her driver's license," Marchand said

"Well where's her purse?" Ryan asked. "We need that phone."

"What do you need that for?"

Mike stood, and faced the terrorism expert. "Who's in charge here?"

"I am," the detective said.

"Wrong. The Bureau is in charge here. Which is another way of saying that I'm in charge here. That purse should still be lying here. Get that phone, and if anything's happened to it, you'll be looking for work as a rent a cop."

"Where's that purse?" marchand asked a butch looking detective with short graying hair.

"Benny's's got it over at the CSU van."

"Get it," Mike said tersely. _It should have been left where it was found. This can't be good._

The purse was, in fact, in the van, but when it was produced, there was no phone inside it.

Mike reached into the inside pocket of his raid jacket and pulled out a soft covered notebook and a slim black government issue ballpoint. "I want the names and badge numbers of everyone who handled that purse." He wrote down a list of names, and by the time he was finished, the terrorism expert was looking distinctly worried.

"Wait here," Mike told him. He walked way from a circle of cops worried about their pensions and called Shelby.

"It's gone to hell here. Mrs. Hermanson's phone has been removed. I think by one of the cops on the scene."

"I'm on the way now with reinforcements," Shelby replied. "We just crossed the I 278 bridge. Get names and badge numbers."

"Already done."

"Good. Hold the fort till I get there."

"Will do."

Mike put the phone away and walked back to Expert and his keystone cops. "My boss is on the way, and your future is bleak. Listen carefully. Do not, repeat do not release Mrs Hermanson's name to the press. You are withholding pending notification. Do not, repeat do not, mention terrorism. This wasn't Allahu Akbar, this was a rubout. Of Mrs. Hermanson. Someone went through her house and wasted everyone inside. I was just there. They killed innocent people to muddy the waters, or maybe just to get their jollies."

"Why did they do it?" Marchand asked.

"I can't tell you. National security. As far as the press is concerned, this was a lone wolf crazy, and nothing more. Pull the street surveillance video. It won't help, because they've already disposed of that vehicle, but pull it anyway."

"What do we say if the press asks about the murders at her house?" Expert asked.

Mike looked over towards the dead bodies lying on the ground. "Tell them this is what the world is coming to."

III

"So you were right."

Max looked up from her screen to find Dennis sitting next to her, his screen showing a picture of a brown haired, moon faced, rather jowly man with hazel eyes. The picture, she saw, was part of an NCIC file, and there were pictures of the same man in booking somewhere.

"Of course I was right," she grinned. "What was I right about?"

"Still modest as ever, I see. About that dude last night. He's got a record. His name is Duane Byerly. He's originally from Atlanta. He's got priors for stalking, possession, and animal cruelty. Atlanta PD says that he was tailing a woman he'd dated, staking out her dorm, following her around to class and to work. When they questioned him about it, he said he was planning to join the CIA and he was practicing his tradecraft."

"Nice," Max said. "Well apparently he wasn't good enough at his tradecraft to remain undetected."

"Actually he was. He kept a book full of surveillance notes, which he carried around with him. One of his friends got drunk at a party and stole it, and then someone told the woman, and she went to the cops and took out a restraining order."

Max swivelled her chair around to face Dennis. "OK, so maybe he could actually try out for a 00 number."

"Something else. He moved here four months ago. He'd worked as an unarmed security guard at a mall, but managed to get himself fired. Later he had a job at a computer plant in shipping and got fired from that. Then suddenly he pulled up stakes and moved here. He took a job a few weeks later in an office supply store. But here's where it really gets interesting. Before he came here, Atlanta PD was looking for a serial killer called the Surgeon. Four women were killed and mutilated. Whoever did it had some skills. These were almost like dissections. Now here's your Final Jeopardy answer. The number of victims killed by the Surgeon since Duane Byerly left Atlanta."

"What is zero?" she asked.

"We have a winner," Dennis said. "And something else. Guess who went missing last night"

"Who?"

"Sarah Marloth. Remember her? Apparently her maid called the police and reported that she hasn't been seen since yesterday, and she isn't answering her phone."

"I think I'll go see this guy. I'd like to meet him."

"I'll go with you."

"You don't have to," she cautioned, "and I don't want to get you in trouble."

"NYPD will be expecting two agents. It's better for you if I go."

"Yeah, but it's maybe not better for you."

"If you want to go, you're taking me with you," Dennis said. "Done." He looked at her screen. "So how's it going with the shark? Have you figured out what it is?"

Max pointed at her screen. "It's a botnet.* Client-server variety. Theo had bots planted in computers. Military, intelligence, even some commercial. The bots report back to this computer. Maybe Selachim wasn't just a name for Theo, but a name he gave his botnet. He's not using them to carry out cyber attacks, although maybe he could. He's just gathering information and selling it. If you run Selachim Updater, which I'm about to do, the bots report in and update you with any new information they've gathered. Sort of a spy agency on a desktop."

"You've got control of it?" Dennis asked.

"Like I said, it's client to server, and this computer is the main server. On a P2P botnet, it's a distributed network. That's a different story. You aren't taking control of that. The Bureau has spent years going after some botnets, without totally shutting them down or catching the botherders. But Theo was operating on a different level. As in below the surface. He just needed to receive information from his bots and remain undetected. So he put everything under central control. And now, we have control."

"Or rather, you have total control."

Max gave her best Joker grin, typed a password, and pressed enter. At first, nothing appeared to be happening. "I think it's establishing a connection," she said.

A window resembling a browser appeared, and blocks of text began to scroll past. In addition, an arrow icon appeared on the left of the screen, apparently indicating downloads.

"This stuff is from all over," Dennis said. "The Bureau, and a whole bunch of other three letter agencies. Some of this is private sector, too."

"Yeah. Let this run for a while. Once it calls all of Theo's bots, we should be able to identify all of the bots and where they're located. Then Cyber Response can start removing everything. Meanwhile, we can go talk to Duane Byerly. When we get back, we can start going through all of this stuff."

She reached for her phone, which was sitting on her desk, and began dialing the NYPD Homicide Division.

IV

"When I give you a murder assignment, it's because I need someone killed, not so you can enjoy yourself."

"If I was really trying to enjoy myself, I would have killed more people. That kid, for example."

Alford had drawn the drapes over his view of Central Park. Some papers were spread out on his work desk. He'd been reading over an intelligence report when Raleigh had finally showed up, but couldn't concentrate on it. "I understand you were trying to obscure the motive for Mrs Hermanson's murder. But while it might fool the press and the public for a time, it won't fool the FBI, or Ryan Hardy."

"Ryan Hardy isn't in the FBI anymore."

"In fact, I saw him at the New York field office this morning. I don't know if Mr Shelby is making any official use of him, but I'm sure he's on the playing field in one way or another. That niece of his and Mike Weston will turn to him for help, whether Shelby approves of it or not."

"So let me handle him," Raleigh said. "If you don't know where he is, just get me the location for one of his people. Wherever they are, he'll close by."

"I'm afraid that's a luxury we can't afford right now. We need to focus on finding Eliza. Now that he's been forced to reveal himself, we have other options for dealing with Ryan. Eventually the FBI will have to turn him over for prosecution."

"You're sure?"

"We'll see to it. We still have influential people on the payroll. We'll see to it that his survival becomes public knowledge, and then demands will be made, in the press, and in Washington, for his head. For now, we simply need to stay one jump ahead of him.. Did you get Mrs Hermanson's phone?"

"Yes. We had a guy in the crime lab. And it's a good thing we got that phone. The woman took pictures of merch that she brought in using her own personal phone. Stupid bitch. She should have used a separate digital camera when she was taking pictures for the catalog."

"People get careless with digital devices," Alford said. "I knew there's be something."

'What happens if they get on to our NYPD guy.?" Raleigh asked.

"What usually happens to people who have become an embarrassment. I take it you got the hard drives and documents we needed from ZR."

"I got them," Raleigh replied, "but what are they for?"

"There are two things we need. Eliza had two kinds of people on payroll. First, she had guys who were legitimate contractors, to the extent that anyone in that business is legitimate. She could use them for contracts here or overseas. Bodyguarding, security work, even hired soldiers. But then there were what she called her illegals. It's a word that came from the Russian spooks. Fitting, since she's part Russian. These were people that she used for operations that were flatly illegal here. A lot of what she did for the Organzation was done by her illegals. They had phoney papers, and they weren't actually on ZR's payroll, at least not officially. They were paid under the table. If they were caught, they were deniable. Take last year, for example, one of her illegals was killed by Max Hardy, but the FBI never could connect him to Eliza or the Organization."

"Now Eliza had a spreadsheet, encrypted, on the hard drive you removed from her office computer. That was what we wanted, and it was the only thing we really wanted. The rest was to keep others, especially, the FBI, in the dark. So if the FBI raids her office, they won't find anything useful."

"And the phone?" Raleigh asked

"Again, it slows down the FBI, and if we know people she dealt with..."

Alford's Blackberry, which was lying on usi desk, signaled an incoming call. He left his thought unfinished and stepped to pick it up.

"Clayton Alford". He listened for a minute without talking, and then sat at the desk, picked up a ballpoint, and began taking a few notes on a hotel memo pad. "Thank for calling. We'll move on this immediately."

He set the Blackberry down and turned to Raleigh. "There's been a new development," he said. "And for once, I think we've caught a break."

V

"I want this recorded."

Max watched as a female detective with shoulder length sandy brown hair sat down in front of a computer terminal and logged into the recording system. Through the one way glass, they could see Duane Byerly, dressed in an orange jumpsuit, sitting handcuffed to a steel bar that ran across the interview room table. He looked bored.

"The Bureau doesn't normally record interviews," the detective said.

"This isn't a normal day," Max replied. "And I'll want a copy on a flash drive when we're done."

"OK," the policewoman said. "We're live."

"Thanks." Max stepped out into the hallway and Dennis followed.

"Why the recording?" he asked.

"Two reasons. First, the guy's been Mirandized, but he's waived his right to counsel. I don't want him saying later that he was mistreated, especially since you're the one he tried to kill. Second, these people are really good at making things like evidence disappear. If I can get him to talk, I want an undeniable record in my physical possession. Note taking doesn't do that. Ready?"

"Oh yeah."

Max opened the door and stepped into the interview room. She had a carry case in her hand with her laptop inside, along with a legal pad. She sat down across the table from Byerly, and took out her pad and a pen. Dennis sat next to her. Byerly leaned forward a bit, focusing on her, and she thought she saw a flicker of recognition in his eyes. She clicked her ballpoint and placed it on top of the pad.

"Hi Duane. I'm Max Hardy."

"I know who you are. I saw you on TV. Back when your uncle was killed."

"And you definitely know who this is," she said. "Or maybe they didn't give you a name. This is Dennis Fuchida."

Duane sat silently, focused intently on Max.

"So how's that CIA career working out?" she asked.

"You're not here about that."

"No, I'm not. You never actually got that CIA job you wanted. But you definitely went to work for somebody, doing something fairly spooky. I'm hoping you'll tell me about her."

"Who says it's a her?"

"You know, one of the problems with being in this business is that the people we work for don't always tell us everything. I had some recent experience with it myself. I was lucky. My friends came for me, and got me out of a jam. You on the other hand...You don't have any friends and no one's coming for you."

"Who says it's a her?" Duane asked again

"So that we're clear," Max continued, " I'm not here to get a confession. We don't need one. We've got you. But maybe you want to do yourself some good. Because the penalty for attempted murder of a Federal agent varies anywhere from 70 to 162 months. Now the reason they do that is to give people like you a chance to help themselves when they're caught. They have an incentive to cooperate. You're what, twenty-six? You could have a life left when you get out."

Duane sat impassively, not answering. "I told you were wasting our time," Dennis said to Max. "She didn't tell him anything anyway. He's just a pawn. He doesn't know anything."

"Is that true?" she asked Duane. "Are you just a pawn?"

"No," Duane replied. "I'm not just somebody's pawn."

"I didn't think so," she said. "I think you were an important part of her plans. I'd like to know what those were."

"Her. You mean Eliza," Duane said.

"That's right," Max replied. "I mean Eliza. That's who I'm really after. I know she was a student of Dr Strauss. I'm guessing you were too. You went to Lightford Academy for a while, but I know you didn't graduate. I guess you met him while you were there. I'm not asking you to betray a fellow student. I doubt you even know where she is. But you've met her. How did you meet Eliza? Was it at Lightford?"

Duane hesitated a moment. "No," he said at last. "I didn't meet her there. She came to me. Six months ago. In Atlanta. I had just lost my job at J&B Comsys. I didn't have any money, and there was this girl that I'd met online. She lived in Houston. I wanted to move, and...well anyway, she contacted me."

"How?" she asked.

"I was in a bookstore where I used to hang out. I was sitting there, drinking a cup of coffee, and reading a magazine. It was Covert Ops Gazette. She sat down at a table next to me and started a conversation. We talked for a while, and she gave me a card, and told me to call her. She said she was in town for a few days, and that she could help me find a job."

"So I called her the next day, and she asked me to come to her hotel. I went to her room, and she was there with a couple of guys that worked for her. And she sent them out, and we talked. She told me she knew about Dr Strauss. She knew I'd been to Lightford, and met him there. She knew when I'd studied with him. She knew about other things too. That I...well anyway, she knew everything about me. And she said that she was reaching out to some fellow students. She needed people who could help her. And she said she could make it worth my while. I would have to come to New York to live, and I would be...on call. Like, if she needed me for an op."

"Like if she needed someone killed," Max said. "Like my friend here."

"Not just that. She might also need me as a courier, maybe. Or for surveillance, or whatever. She actually ran exercises. She wanted me to practice surveillance and countersurveillance. She had guys that worked for her that I practiced against. To see how good I was."

"I'm guessing you must have been pretty good," she said, "if she sent you after Dennis"

"I was," Duane said proudly. "She said I was the best student she had recruited."

"Did you know the names of the guys you practiced with?"

"There were two. Kaminsky and some other dude who never spoke.. They were the guys from the hotel. They were like her bodyguards or something."

"Did you ever meet a guy named Derek?" she asked.

"No."

"Did she help you get a job here? A place to stay?"

"She got me the apartment and paid the deposit and the first couple of months rent until I could find a job. She gave me a little money to tide me over. She got me some job interviews, and I got hired working part time in an office supply store."

"How did she contact you if she needed you for a job?"

"She gave me a burner phone, and said it was only for taking calls from her. Sometimes she'd call or text and tell me that I was supposed to meet those guys for a training exercise. When I met them, they'd take the old phone and give me a new one."

"Did Eliza ever tell you who she worked for?"

"She said she worked for an organization of serial killers. She said that if I made myself useful, maybe I could earn my way in. There was supposed to be a house somewhere, but she never told me where it was. But she said that for those who could buy their way in, or earn their way in, it was like you never had to worry about getting caught again. She talked about the things that went on at the House. I wanted to go, but she never used me for actual op until...well, until this one."

"How did she know about you? I always thought Strauss kept his students separate. Did she say how she found you?"

"She said that she had worked very closely with Dr Strauss before he was arrested, and that she tried to help him afterwards. She said that Strauss had sent her to recruit other students while he was alive. She said that it had always been Dr Strauss' intention to have a select group of his students carry on with his legacy after he escaped and fled the country. I'd read about Kyle and Daisy Locke, and how they'd helped Strauss before they were killed. I assumed that Dr Strauss must have given Eliza my name, since there was no other way she could have known about me."

"Did she say how she tried to help afterwards? Did she recruit Kyle and Daisy ?"

"She never would talk about Kyle or Daisy. I asked. She said she had tried to help Strauss get out of the country. She said she gave a woman named Juliana Barnes the name of someone who could get him out by ship, but Juliana got careless."

"Got careless how?"she asked.

"She said that Juliana spent a lot money that Strauss had given her, and that alerted the FBI that someone was paying her off. She warned me about spending a lot of money. Not that she ever gave me very much."

'How much did she give you?"

"Twenty-five hundred a month at first, to tide me over until I found a job in New York. Then she cut it back"

"Just to sit around and wait for the phone to ring," Max said. "Nice work if you can get it. "Did she do anything for Strauss besides tell Juliana where she could book passage on a ship? Did she arrange papers for Strauss? Money?"

"I don't know. She never said anything about that. She just said that she tried to help Dr Strauss get out of the country, and that if it hadn't been for Juliana he would have made it."

She smiled, and reached for the ballpoint, which she put back in the inside packet of her suit jacket. "Thank you Duane. I really appreciate you talking to me, and telling me the truth. I'll tell the US Attorney you've been helpful. There'll be some more questions later. But that's all for now." She picked up the legal pad and stuffed it back in the carry case.

In the hallway outside, Dennis turned to Max, and put his hand on the knob of the door to the office where the controls for the recording system were located just as she was about to enter. "What the hell?" he asked. "I thought you were going to sweat him about Sarah Marloth."

"Not here," she said. "Wait till we get to the car."

VI

As they walked through the police department parking deck to get to their car, Max caught herself in checking behind her and walking wide around corners. _It's the police department for Christ's sake. But it's still a parking deck._ Paranoia really had struck deep. She wondered if she'd ever be able to relax again.

They got back in the car, Max on the driver's side. "So what was that all about?" Dennis asked

"I got what I came for. Now I need to figure out what it means."

"What did you come for? We've got him on attempted murder, but he's guilty of murder one."

"He knew he was busted for trying to kill you, but he had no incentive to admit to murder. If I'd asked him about that, he would have clammed up, or lawyered up. I wanted him talk about his time with Eliza."

"What's wrong with you? He's killed at least four women. Probably five, counting Sarah Marloth. And you're letting him get away with it?"

"We've got plenty of time to pin those murders on him," Max replied. "But we've only got a few hours before Eliza makes it out of the country, if we even have that long."

"And what was all that about Strauss' escape? That was months ago."

Max looked at Dennis, her face dark with fury. "Not to me! To me it's like yesterday! I close my eyes and I can still see it. Strauss made a run for it, and it ended with me beaten senseless, and then he kept running and led us to Theo, and it all ended with Mike bleeding all over me, and Ryan gone. My life was ripped apart, my family was ripped apart. And Eliza was involved in Strauss' escape."

"You don't know that," Dennis said. "That's something she told him. She was recruiting him as an assassin. Naturally she'd tell him how powerful her organization was. She'd tell him that if he got caught, someone would be coming for him. That doesn't mean it's true. She had every reason to lie to him. And even if she did tell him the truth, I don't see why it matters now."

"You remember Zack Coleman? We interviewed him right after Jason Rickard was killed."

"That IT guy. Yeah, I remember."

"Mike and I found out later that he was working for Eliza. But we also found out that he was double crossing her. When I was on the run, I talked to him. I tried to bring him in. I thought if the Bureau could debrief him, get him into witness protection, then it would be a way for me to clear myself. He wouldn't go for it, and he ended up dead. But before he died, he told me a lot about Eliza, and Theo, and what really went on all those months that Ryan was missing. I found out that Eliza had me under long term surveillance over a year ago. I saw a copy of the file. Derek, that guy I asked about, ran the surveillance team. That's why I asked about him when Duane mentioned surveillance. Eliza killed him too."

"So?"

"What if she told Duane Byerly the truth? That she helped Strauss. It would mean that months ago, when we were chasing Strauss, there was something we all missed. Maybe something that was staring us right in the face. I know now that Eliza was part of my life before I even heard of her. Before I knew she existed. The first time I met her, I had no idea who she really was. Now I'm hunting her, and it's like chasing a ghost. But she's been there, all along. And I think now that maybe everything that's happened over the past year, Strauss' escape, Mike getting stabbed, Ryan being targeted, me being framed, was all somehow related to this connection between Strauss and Eliza that we still don't understand. That maybe everything happened to us because she made it happen. And I think that somewhere there's one missing piece of the puzzle, and if I could find it, then it would change the meaning of everything, and I would know how and why she did it. Why all this happened. And I need to know why. I need to know the truth, whatever that truth is."

"Mike said that she really got to you. He said it was like Ryan and Joe all over again. This is obsessive, this is paranoid. She can't be behind everything. Mike's worried about you, and so am I. Mike's afraid that you won't find her. That she'll escape, and get out of the country, and you'll go after her. I'm afraid that you will find her. And when you do, you won't have your shit wired straight because you're obsessed, and she'll have the edge."

"If I'm obsessed," she said, "I've damn well earned the right."

" I wonder if Ryan ever said something like that."

He had, she realized. _"I'm obsessed, and I'm OK with it."_ She smiled a little at the memory. "Maybe he kinda did. But if it makes you feel any better I promise not to take a swan dive off any bridges."

"Well that's a load off my mind. Maybe we better be getting back to the office."

VII

Mike watched as a SWAT van disgorged HRT agents in black battle rattle who began fanning out around the perimeter. Shelby was getting out of an unmarked Cadillac ATS. The perimeter had been expanded to accommodate the Bureau vehicles that were arriving. Uniformed police officers had pushed the gathering mob of reporter back to make room for a Bureau crime lab van and carloads of agents and HRT. Not, Mike reflected sourly, that there was likely to be much useful forensic evidence to go over at this point.

Mike could see Shelby issuing orders to the agents he had brought, and then he pushed past the reporters, ignoring them and their questions. He made his way to Mike and Ryan and told the detectives with them to back the hell off for a minute while he talked to his people. "I brought Agent Smith with me," Mike said, nodding at Ryan.

"Good. I called Klesko and got her working on getting the Hermanson woman's calling records. Those should be waiting for you when you get back. Smith, do you know anything about any possible sources they might have inside the NYPD?"

"No," Ryan said, "but we've got names and badge numbers, and we can start narrowing things down. Look for suspicious bank deposits, that sort of thing."

"That'll take half of forever," Shelby said disgustedly.

"What abut voiceprint on that recording Max found?" Mike asked.

"We're working on it, but keep in mind that we don't have any recordings of Eliza's voice that we know of, and voiceprint is problematic in court. Judges and juries don't always like it, especially when there's surreptitious recording involved. They think it's unfair. We'll never get anything like a conviction out of that recording, especially given that it was an illegal phone tap. Plus defense counsel could claim that hacker genius Theo tampered with it. The most we'll get from Theo's phone hacking is one or more search warrants, and I absolutely guarantee you that before we can execute any of them, Alford will slip out of the country."

"If he does that, I'm going after him," Mike vowed.

"You better pray we get him before it comes to that, because no way in hell am I gonna let you go globetrotting. Your cowboy crap from Mark Gray days is still a bad memory to a lot of people. If you want to be an international man of mystery, you hand in your resignation and do it on your own dime. The same goes for Max. And it goes double for Agent Smith here. Do I make myself clear?"

"As crystal," Mike replied.

"Klesko should have those phone records by the time you get back to the office," Shelby said. " I've got this here. Give that list of names and badge numbers to Klesko, and check on Max and Fuchida."

Mike and Ryan began walking back to the Caprice. When they were a safe distance away, Mike moved slightly closer to Ryan and faced towards him. 'Shelby lets you have with both barrels", he said.

"He's actually mellowed out," Ryan replied. "When I worked for him, he was way worse."

VIII

Mike found Amy Klesko in the Command Center. Ryan had wanted a soda from the machine and a chance to call Gwen. He wasn't, Mike realized, really comfortable being back in the headquarters building. Ryan hadn't been in the Bureau since that night he'd fallen into the river. Now, at some level, he wasn't really of the Bureau, either.

Amy was standing near the back of the room, apparently dividing her attention between a screen showing the coverage of the mass shooting on CNN and a sheaf of papers

'Shelby said you'd have the calling records," Mike said.

"Yeah, I sent 'em to your email already."

"Thanks. Where's Max?"

"I'm not sure. She left. I think with Dennis. I assumed she was with you."

"She's probably just not back yet," Mike said. "Traffic's a bear."

He turned, and walked quickly back to the small office Dennis had been using. He found it locked, and no one answered when he tapped on the door. He pulled out his phone and called Max.

"Hey," she said. "How are you?"

"I'm good. I just wanted to tell you that I'm stuck here at this crime scene, and it doesn't look like I'll be back any time soon. This is going to take time to sort out."

"What's wrong?" she asked.

"Missing evidence and a botched investigation. You know how totally screwed up things get when procedure doesn't get followed."

"Tell me about it."

"So how are things going at the office?"

"It's going great. We found out that Theo had his very own botnet, and we're working on taking it apart."

"Well good luck with that. Listen, I gotta go. Shelby wants something."

"OK. I love you."

"I love you too. Bye."

He turned to find Ryan standing behind him, a can of Diet Pepsi in his hand and a puzzled expression on his face. "Something wrong?" he asked.

"Max is following up a lead. I'm just not sure where she followed it to."

IX

Max ended the call and glanced at Dennis in the passenger seat. "Mike's at the office. I think I'm in for it when we get back."

X

Ryan pretended to focus intently on the calling records on Mike's terminal. Mike didn't even pretend, and divided his attention between the records and pacing the halls waiting for Max. On the sixth check of the office, Mike found the door open. He stuck his head inside, and found Max and Dennis looking at the screen of an open laptop. "Welcome back guys," he said. They both turned, startled by his appearance. "If you don't mind," Mike said to Dennis, "I'd like a word with Max."

"Sure," Dennis replied, and beat a hasty retreat, closing the door behind him.

"So, Mike began, "what happened to I'll never keep anything from you again?"

"I'm sorry. I wanted to interview the guy who tried to kill Dennis. I figured Eliza had probably sent him. Dennis rode along"

"Because he knew you'd go regardless."

"Uh...yeah. Something like that. I thought Eliza might have sent this guy, and I wanted to talk to him. Look, I'm back at work now. I wanted to follow up on this. It's not an obsession, it's work. "

" So was getting you out of that cage, and if you don't mind, I'd rather not have to do it again."

"It was a police station, the guy was in handcuffs."

"I don't care where it was. It's the principle. You didn't tell me the truth. I don't just worry about you ending up dead or back in a cage. I worry about you getting into trouble. Eliza may be your own personal Joe, but I don't think you'll get as many second chances as Ryan did."

"I found out that yes, he had met Eliza, and that she may have been involved in Strauss' escape."

"Isn't that beating a dead horse?"

"He's dead but he keeps haunting us. All we've done the last few years is deal with his legacy. How much do we really know about him, even now? Look, I'm sorry, I know I should have said something, but I thought Shelby would assign the interview to someone else, and I thought you wouldn't understand, I...I know that there's some kind of link back to Strauss that we haven't figured out yet. I just think we need to look at everything."

"We do need to look at everything," he said, "and that includes what's going on with you. This is a side of you I've never seen before. I love you, and because I love you, this is the riot act. The next time you go behind my back on this case, I'm telling Shelby to pull you off of it, for your own good."

"You have no right to judge me! Not after what you've done! Not after all the times I covered for you and Ryan! And you do not dictate how I work this case!"

"I don't decide how you work it, but I can damn well decide if you're on it. I told you I can't lose you."

"You would be surprised how fast you can lose me," she said icily.

"Well if it comes to that, I'd rather lose you when you walk out than when I lay a wreath on your grave. I know I made a lot of mistakes. I failed the Bureau, I failed myself, and worst of all I failed you. But I learned. And I came to see that I was lucky to live, and to get another chance. If you go down that same road, you might not be as lucky."

He stalked out, giving Dennis, who was standing a short way down the hall a nasty look. "Sorry," Dennis said, as Mike went past. Mike went and found Ryan, still at the terminal they had been using. "We're moving down the hall," Mike told him. "I think for now we've had enough of splitting the team."

XI

"I wouldn't have thought of pairing red wine with any kind of fish," Eliza said. "But this is amazing."

"Pinot Noir is one of the lighter red wines," Emily explained. It works well with salmon that's been roasted or grilled with herbs."

Emily had managed to throw the meal together in a remarkably short time, but the results were hard to argue with. A spinach salad had been followed by a wild Alaska salmon steak, roasted between layers of lemon slices and sprigs of fresh rosemary. Emily had served it with baked red potatoes, smashed, with butter and cayenne pepper.

"So how did the interview go?"

"I think it went really well. I've got a good feeling. They asked a lot of questions, which is a good sign. The doctor there, her name is Araujo, seemed to like me a lot. She seems really nice. It's hard to believe that someone like that could really be a cold blooded killer. People surprise you."

"They do," Eliza nodded. "When will you know?"

"They said I was the next to the last interview. In a day or two, I think. So how was your day?"

"I only had one errand to run, and it really didn't take all that long. I spent most of it here. I read, and watched a little of the news. And I curled up and took a nap. I've been keeping some pretty rough hours."

Emily poured herself some more wine and held up the bottle, offering it to Eliza, who declined it. "When are you leaving?" Emily asked.

"In a few hours. I can't tell you how much I appreciate everything you've done. If you ever need anything..."

"What about your car?" Emily asked. "I can drive you to wherever, and dispose of it later."

"The man who's arranging my travel should be able to take care of it."

"You should let me drive you. I've seen the news. The police are really going to be on edge on account of this sniper attack. Someone should have your back, until you get safely away. I can handle myself pretty well, you know. And I think you'd be glad of the company."

"OK," Eliza said, smiling. "You've sold me."

"Good. Now there's mango sorbet for dessert."

XII

The team now occupied only one room, but they worked in pairs at separate desks. Max and Dennis had the open laptops, including Theo's on one desk, and were reading over the reports that Theo's bots had phones in. Mike and Ryan shared the other, and were working down a list of names gleaned from calling records. Max remembered Mike's idea, dreamed up on the spur of the moment a week ago last Wednesday, that things were going to be like old times. Little had he known. Now here they were, the three of them, reunited, working a case. Of course it wasn't just like old times. Ryan was no longer an agent and was free only on the Bureau's sufferance. Dennis was with them now, but if that was a change it wasn't exactly a change for the worse. And if the case was looking hopeless, well, it wasn't the first time.

Max took a moment from poring over the screen in front of her, rolled her chair back a bit and stretched her legs out. She glanced around the room. Dennis was sucking on a can of diet Dr Pepper. Ryan was reading off a phone number and address from a list, and Mike was typing something on the keyboard in front of him, running a background check on a name.

 _I want to remember this moment. Because I don't know what's going to happen. This could be the last time we're ever together on a case. And that was true of every case we worked, I just never really thought about it at the time. I can't imagine they'll let Ryan come back, even if he stays out of prison. We never know when the people or the things we love will be taken from us_. _So be here now. With the people you love. I wanted to find Ryan, and I did. No matter what happens now, that's something Eliza can never take from me._

 _And Mike was right. I need to look at what's happening to me. Ryan could have stayed away. He walked in and surrendered just to clear me, knowing it could cost him everything. So try to act like you're worth it._

Her phone began playing "Take 'Em Down" by Dropkick Murphys. Shelby. She picked it up from the desk in front of her. "Max Hardy."

"I'm still at this crime scene. I'll be here for a while, and after that I have to make a statement to the press. I wanted to touch base and see how you're doing."

"Shelby," she said to the others. She set the phone back down on the desk. "You're on speaker."

"Good. So give me a progress report."

"It's actually worse than we thought," Max said. "Theo had bots planted in the Bureau's servers and in a lot of other places too. There's material here from State, CIA, the Pentagon... A lot of this I can't even go into on the phone. But we found, for example, that the bots here reported on confidential sources that the Bureau had here in New York. That includes double agents we were running, and Theo may have given their names to opposition intelligence services. These people could already be blown. There's people we had reporting on terrorist groups, and on Russian and Chinese intelligence operations. All of them could be blown already."

" We've notified Counterintelligence and Cyber Response," she continued. "The only good news is that he also had bots inside the Organization's front companies. I guess Zack Coleman helped plant those. We may get a pretty detailed breakdown on the Organization from going through this stuff, and we may be able to implicate Alford.."

"What about the calling records?" Shelby asked.

"We're running background checks on people Ms Hermanson talked to," Mike answered. "We may find someone with a record. If we get a hit."

"What about street surveillance?" Shelby asked. "Facial recognition?"

"We're looking," Mike replied. "Nothing so far."

"Well keep at it."

"We will," Max said. "This is a lot of material. We'll be working late."

'All right then. I'll see you when I see you."

Shelby ended the call. "If we are going to be working into the night," Ryan said, "someone needs to make a food and coffee run."

"I'll go," Mike offered. "Give me your orders."

Chapter resumes with Chapter 22 part 2

20


	23. There's Someone I Need To Kill Pt 2

Disclaimer: It's fanfic, meaning I don't own anything or make any money off of it. It's a labor of love. Please don't sue me.

This chapter is rated T.

Chapter 22 - There's Someone I Need To Kill

Part 2

XIII

Eliza gazed out of the passenger side window of her Q50 at the East River below as Emily drove them across the Verrazano Narrows Bridge toward Staten Island. A barge was approaching the bridge from upstream. Probably loaded with garbage, she thought sourly. Maybe it's come to this. I'm being shipped out with the rest of the garbage. Not her usual way of thinking about herself by any means, but her failure weighed on her mind. She wanted to look back at the lighted towers of Manhattan, but did not. _Focus on the future, not the past, because you're not out of here yet, and if you get distracted you may not make it out at all._

"Take the Staten Island Expressway," Eliza said. "And then 440 north towards Bayonne."

Emily eased over into the right hand lane. "When we get there, I'll get out first, and check out the area on foot. They don't know me. I can look for surveillance."

"You don't have to do that," Eliza protested.

"But I want to."

"Thank you."

"I almost wish I could come with you. It must be nice, to travel. I've never had much of a chance to do that. Except when I went to study with Dr. Strauss. But anyway, I have things to do here."

"I know you do. Maybe when I get a little settled down, I'll send for you. I had a friend who had lived in Turkey. I've never been there, but he told me that Turkish cuisine is pretty amazing. We could see Istanbul."

"It sounds very exotic."

"I'm sure it is. It's going to be a big change for me, starting all over again. I'll miss all of this. But I'm going to land on my feet. I'm going to build a whole new organization. Start from scratch. And I'm going to settle some scores."

"Anyone in particular?" Emily asked.

"Definitely Ryan Hardy and his niece. And anyone they care about that I can get at."

"Well if you need help, you know where to find me."

"Thanks. I'll remember."

XIV

Mike had returned with coffee, sodas, and sandwiches that were swallowed hastily and more or less whole. Max had wolfed down a turkey sub on whole wheat. She sipped her coffee as she listened to Dennis go over a report from one of Theo's bots.

"So basically, ZR has paramilitary teams all over the world, and Uncle Sam is their biggest customer. They provide security to government officials in Iraq, Afghanistan, and elsewhere. I can see where some of this could have been really useful to Theo. He could have sold information about, for example security arrangements for VIPs that ZR was supposed to be protecting. It might be interesting to see if any of these people turned up dead recently. This," he said, holding up a couple of sheets of printout "is basically a list of supply requisitions for some of their teams. It's pretty extensive."

Max held out her hand. "Let me see that."

"What's interesting to me," Dennis continued, "is that there's nothing here that would indicate anything illegal. And yet we know she had teams operating in this country supporting the Organization. I'm starting to think that there must have been some black teams she kept entirely off the books for that."

"If there were," Mike replied, "it might explain why they broke into her office downtown. If there were any records of any kind of illegal operations, they probably removed or destroyed the evidence. These people are thorough."

Ryan looked at his watch. "It's getting late," he observed. He didn't add "And she's probably gone by now". He didn't need to.

"Jack Daniel's", Max said, incredulously.

""Huh?" Ryan asked.

"I was just looking at the stuff on this list. It's going overseas to one of their teams. Someplace in Turkey, I think near the Syrian border. Batteries, generators, computers, satcom gear, medical supplies. A list of weapons and ammo. And apparently some whiskey to keep the chill off on cold nights. Apparently these contractors get taken care of. They're shipping whiskey to Turkey. That's a Muslim country. I didn't think they went in for that sort of thing over there."

"These contracting outfits can operate like they're pretty much above the law," Dennis observed.

"I read a book about it by a British guy who worked as a contractor in Iraq, and he said they sent in literal crate loads of cash for payouts that didn't..."

"Whoa," Max interrupted. "There's supposed to be copies of the actual manifests attached to these things. Shipment times and methods. This one went out by airfreight to Baghdad." This one is going to Istanbul by ship, but I don't see a manifest."

Mike went fishing through a pile of papers. "Here it is. Yeah, by ship. The Oceanic Azure, owned by Montserrado Shipping. Registry is Panamanian, and the company has its headquarters in the Canary Islands." He studied the sheet in front of him. "This is going out tonight."

Max sat bolt upright in her chair. "Does it say who the shipping agent is?"

"Yeah. Penhorn Maritime Agency."

"Who runs it?" she asked,

Mike flipped over a page. "It doesn't say. We can look it up." He swivelled his chair around to face his terminal, and began a web search. "Owner is a guy named Gerald Bonner."

"Is there a contact number?" Ryan asked.

"646-208-2814."

Ryan held up a sheet of printout. "Laura Hermanson called that number. Twice this month."

"We need a warrant," Dennis said.

"No," Max replied. "We need a record of us asking for warrant. But we're not waiting around."

XV

"This is your exit," Eliza said. They turned onto a curving slip road. And found themselves driving through a vast industrial park. Ahead they could see a ship moored beneath cargo cranes, and beyond it, the lights of the Bayonne Marine Terminal, a manmade peninsula that jutted out into Upper New York Bay..

Eliza reached into the glove compartment and took out an card, about the size of an index card. "The road will turn sharply to the left. Turn right at the first gate. I've got a parking pass so we don't get towed. I've been here before. Jerry's going to be waiting in a small building down near where that ship is. Walk down and walk back. Here's a pass, just clip it on." she placed the orange card and clip on badge on the dash. . "The photo doesn't match, but if you act like you belong there, no one's going to pay any attention. Just walk down and walk back to the car. Tell me if you see anything. When I leave to go meet Jerry, take the car to that storage facility where I kept it. The pass code and everything you need is in an envelope in the glove box, along with some money."

Emily took the unsealed manila envelope, and opened it to examine its contents. Inside were two thick stacks of hundred dollar bills. "You don't need to..."

"Yes I do," Eliza interrupted her. "Don't argue. I don't know what I would have done without you."

"Thank you," Emily said. "Thank you so much." She placed the envelope and its contents on the seat, and opened the door. "Wait here. I won't be long."

XVI

A walkway led past the right side of the one story building ahead. Emily walked towards the ship, a row of Conex containers on her left, and the dark, cold water of the Upper bay on the right. Across the water, at the next quay over, she could see two tugboats moored to a pier. No one challenged her. She could hear what sounded like a large diesel engine coming from the other side of the row of Conex containers, their ends facing towards her. A large truck maybe. She kept walking.

She guessed she had walked just over a hundred yards when she came to a break in the row of containers on her left, like an access road marked in yellow tape. The on the other side of it, the Conex containers on her left resumed, but on her right the bank angled away and she found herself facing an open area where four shipping container cranes were parked in a row. On the other side of it was a building with a single wide trailer parked next to it, along with a three white pickup trucks. Just beyond it was the quay where the Oceanic Azure lay moored beneath a row of immense cargo cranes. She walked past the building. It looked like a maintenance shop. It was windowless, but she could see lights coming from the single wide next to it.

She walked past the building. Beyond it, yellow lines marked access ways for trucks and equipment through a maze of Conex containers in tight rows, stacked two, three, and four containers high. She was much more likely to be spotted if she got closer to the ship. She looked over towards the building. The trailer was parked just to the right of it. Behind it there seemed to be only the Upper Bay. No one seemed to be watching it. She glanced at her watch. Time to get back to the car.

XVII

Eliza looked in the rearview mirror for the umpteenth time, checking for any sign that she was being observed or that anyone was approaching. Emily wasn't really taking forever, it nly seemed that way. She had been nervous when they set out from Emily's apartment. Now she realized that the closer she got to being home free, the more scared she became.

She could see a figure approaching from the direction of the quay. Emily. She slide into the driver's side seat. "It looks good," she said. "I didn't see anyone. There's lights on in a trailer down by the quay."

"That'll be Jerry. OK. So this is it. Thank you for everything."

Emily reached out and hugged her, and Eliza found herself returning it. "You take care of yourself," Emily said.

"I will. You do the same."

XVIII

She walked towards the single wide trailer carrying her nylon bugout bag in her left hand, leaving the right hand free to draw the Makarov from her shoulder holster. A pretty standard looking construction trailer and mobile office. Two doors and two windows facing her. The window on the right had a light on. The other was dark. The HVAC unit on the lighted end of the trailer was humming. She kept her bag in her left hand and knocked on the door. "Come in," someone said. She recognized Jerry's voice.

The door opened outwards. She stood to the left of it, and set her bugout bag on the ground. She put her right hand on the butt of the Makarov, and pulled the door open with her left. When the door opened, she wanted a clear view of the room inside.

Across the room was a broad table, like a plans table fixed to the wall. To her left was a door that led to the other half of the trailer that was dark. To her right, Jerry was standing with his back to her, facing a desk and filing cabinet placed across the wall on the right. He turned to her and smiled. "Nervous, are we?"

"We are."

"Would you mind coming in and closing the door? I can't afford to heat the outside."

She picked up her bag, stepped inside, and closed the door. "As much as I've paid you, you should be able to heat the North bloody Pole."

"I wouldn't waste all that heat. It's bad for the environment. Global warming. It melts the ice and kills the polar bears."

Even with the door closed, the trailer seemed chill. "You're such a good global citizen, Jerry. Who'd have thought it? You're definitely not wasting any heat in here."

"I can afford to keep it toasty warm as soon as you pay me the balance due."

"Let me see what I'm paying for first."

"Sure." Jerry picked up a manila folder from the desktop and offered it to her. "Check over it. Everything's there. You've got the seal I'll put on the container, the free and clear certificate, and a copy of the manifest."

She took the folder, opened it, and began to examine its contents. "Nice work. What about this container?"

"Well, it ain't five star accommodations. Maybe not up to your usual standards. Canned stuff, bottled water, chemical toilet. There's a cot, a desk, a chair. Battery powered lights, extra batteries, light sticks as backup, air scrubber, and a fuel cell setup so you can charge your phone."

"Who's meeting me?" she asked, as she carefully examined the seal.

"Yusuf. He'll provide you with transportation when you get there. The money?"

She placed the folder on the plans table, and picked up her bag. She set it on the table next to the folder, and unzipped it. She reached in and took out an envelope, which she handed to Jerry. He opened the metal clasp on the end, and pulled out two thick wads of bills. He began riffing through one of the stacks.

"Don't trust me after all this time?" she asked.

The sound of the door opening behind her brought her heart to her mouth. . A familiar voice said "Anyone who would trust you is a fool. Turn around slowly, hands where I can see 'em."

She froze. There was a SIG P239 in her bag. She could see the butt peeking out from below a first aid kit, but she knew it was in a leather holster. Even if she could get to it before she was shot in the back, she would never get the gun out of that holster in time.

She turned slowly, to face the man behind her. Clean shaven, with a round, Slavic face, close cropped light brown hair with widow's peaks, and pale blue eyes. He was holding a silencer equipped Walther PPQ. "Hi Raleigh. I see Clayton decided to let you out of the kennel for a while."

Raleigh stepped into the room, making way for a second man behind him, short and olive skinned, with a moustache. "Cover her," Raleigh said to the second man. Raleigh proceeded to frisk her roughly, copping several generous feels as he did so. "I don't carry a gun on my ass," she said. "If I did, you would have found it by now." He ignored her comment, and continued his searching and groping, relieving her of the Makarov and a knife she had strapped to her ankle. He spun her around roughly and pulled her hands behind her. She felt handcuffs being snapped on her wrists.

"Pretty good night's work for you," She said to Jerry. "You collect for my escape and for selling me out."

"I charged 'em an arm and a leg," Jerry replied. "But I'm sure they'll get it back. I sort of think there's lots of people willing to pay for you, If you know what I mean."

"I know what you mean. But you'll never live to spend it."

"No? And why is that?"

Raleigh fired two shots from his PPQ, catching Jerry in the center of his chest. Jerry pitched backwards onto his desk. Raleigh fired a third time, a head shot at close range.

"Because you were in that phone, asshole," Raleigh said, " and I don't leave loose ends."

Eliza looked at Jerry's lifeless body, and shook her head. "People who make deals with people like you should read the fine print."

"You're one to talk. But yeah, he really didn't think that one through. I am so looking forward to this."

"I thought I was a little old for you, by about fifteen years. And the wrong sex. And maybe even the wrong species."

He slapped her face, on side, and then the other, hard enough to make her see stars. She tasted a little blood. He produced a roll of duct tape and put a strip of it across her mouth.

"Get her to the car," he said to his partner. "I'll give this place the once over, and make sure there's nothing for the FBI to find."

"Move", the other man said. He grabbed Eliza from behind by the collar and pushed her roughly towards the door. He reached past her and pushed the door open, then shoved her out of it. There was a step down, and she struggled not to fall onto the pavement on her face. He pushed her forward, and turned he to the left, shoving her towards the end of the trailer nearest the water.

Ahead she could see a standby generator in its boxy steel housing. Her captor turned her to the right, pushing her around towards the back of the windowless building by the trailer. She could see a Volvo sedan with the trunk open. _So this it. The last ride._

She stepped past the corner of the trailer. As she reached the edge of the windowless building, she saw motion out of the deep shadows between the trailer and the building, and she heard the impact of something soft being hit. Something fell behind her, and as it did, it struck her from behind, knocking her off balance. She staggered, and righted herself. She turned to find a figure behind her, hidden in deep shadow. The man who had been pushing her forward was, she realized, now lying on the ground at her feet.

"Are you OK?" A woman's voice. Emily. She was standing in front of Eliza, holding what looked like a length of pipe. She made an attempt at saying yes that was rendered incoherent by the duct tape across her mouth.

Emily ripped the tape away. "Are you OK?" she asked again.

"Yes. Search him. We need the key. Hurry." Emily bent down and frisked the man, quickly coming up with handcuff key.

"Turn around," Emily said. She felt Emily fumbling with the key, and cuffs slipped off her wrists. Eliza bent down and received the man's Walther from its holster.

"Where did you come from?" Eliza asked in a whisper.

"I tailed you, and you never knew I was there. I wanted to make sure you got on the ship. I was outside, and heard you talking."

"There isn't going to be any ship now," Eliza replied grimly. "We have to get out of here. But first there's someone I need to kill."

XIX

Mike turned into the marine terminal parking lot, ignoring the sign that said authorized vehicles only. Ryan sat next to him. Max and Dennis were in the car behind. They pulled up in front of the office building, and four car doors flew open at once.

Mike looked over at Max and Dennis. "Wait here, keep a lookout. I'll see where that ship is."

Inside he and Ryan found a front desk manned by a paunchy, fiftyish man with gray hair and a weatherbeaten face. Mike held up his badge and creds. "FBI. We're looking for the Oceanic Azure."

"Down the quay, right side," the man said. He pointed with his right thumb over his shoulder in the general direction of the ship. On the wall where his thumb was pointing was a yellow diamond shaped sign that read NOBODY GETS HURT TODAY!

"Call security," Mike said. "Lock this place down. We may have an armed fugitive on the premises." He turned to Ryan. "Let's go!"

XX

Raleigh picked up Eliza's bugout bag, and stuffed folder containing the forged documents into it along with the cash that she had given to Jerry Bonner. He took one final glance around the room, then opened the door and stepped outside. He had unscrewed the silencer from the end of his Walther and reholstered it. He turned out the light, stepped outside, closed the door behind him, and headed for the car.

When he stepped around the corner, he looked towards the car. The trunk was still open. Why hadn't his partner closed it? The he saw the three figures, one lying on the ground, and two others standing over him. One of the two standing figures raised a pistol, and opened fire.

XXI

Max focused her attention on a walkway that led down the shorelinr past a row of Conex containers while Dennis peered down a roadway that started at the left side of the building and passed between two massive stacks on containers on either side. The front door to the building opened, and Mike and Ryan came charging out. "It's down there! Ryan shouted, pointing in the direction of the towering cargo cranes. All four agents dashed for their vehicles. As they reached them, a series of shots rang out, coming from the direction of the ship.

"Max!" Ryan shouted. "You and Dennis head down that walkway. Don't let her get out that way. Mike and I will take the car and go around the other way!"

"Right!" she acknowledged. She ran for the walkway, Dennis right behind her. She drew her Shield, being careful to keep her finger off the trigger as she ran.

Ryan and Mike jumped in their car. Mike reached for the radio and keyed the mike. "This is Ida 16. 10-78, Bayonne marine terminal. Shots fired. Request immediate backup." He gunned the engine and took off down the narrow access road left of the building lined with stacks of containers.

XXII

Eliza had planned to close the trunk lid, wait behind the car and try to ambush Raleigh at a closer range, but there hadn't been enough time, and now she was stuck trying to make a snap shot in poor light at a range of twelve yards. The muzzle flash of her PPQ blinded her as soon as the squeezed the trigger. She fired four shots in rapid succession., then grabbed Emily with her left hand and began running for the back corner of the building. If Raleigh was still standing, they had seconds, if that, to get to cover. "Move!" she shouted. They ran for the end of the building.

XXIII

Raleigh hugged the front of the trailer. He'd ducked behind it when Eliza started firing. There was a dull pain in his chest. He'd been hit, he realized, but it hadn't gone through the vest he'd worn under his overcoat. _Bitch nailed me with the first two shots. Damn she's good._ He opened his coat. This was going to take more than a pistol. He reached for the short barreled AK-47 with the folding stock he had slung under his right arm. It had no stock, and at only two feet long, it could be hidden under a long coat, with the barrel pointing down.

He brought up the AK, flipped the selector switch to Fire, and stuck his head and shoulders out from behind the limited cover the trailer offered. He could see two figures running for the corner of the maintenance building. He fired six shots, and then ducked back behind the trailer. He didn't think he'd hit her.

He could hear a siren, close by. Shit. He looked in the direction of the gate and office building. The car had to be close, but he couldn't see the vehicle for the intervening stacks of containers. But as he looked, he could see two people running down the walkway along the shoreline. Two people wearing FBI raid jackets. They didn't seem to have spotted him, and if they had, they might not have identified him as a bad guy. He raised the AK to his shoulder. If they had vests on, the steel core ammo should make Swiss cheese of them. He fired fired six more shots in rapid succession. One of the two FBI agents pitched backwards and lay still on the pavement.

XXIV

Eliza had no need to pull Emily by the arm, as she was quite agile, but she didn't let go until they ducked around the corner of the building, just as a hail of bullets whizzed past their ears and gouged pieces out of the cinder block walls. "Are you hit?" Eliza asked.

"No."

They could hear an approaching siren very close by. "Get back to the car," Eliza commanded. "Walk out of here."

"No. You have to get away too."

Eliza put her hand on Emily's shoulder. "Listen to me. They don't know you. They're not looking for you. You can just walk out. Go. Now, before they seal this place off."

"What about you?"

"I'll move faster alone. And there's still people I need to kill. Get going."

Emily hesitated for a moment. Then she wordlessly hugged Eliza and started walking briskly around to the far side of the building. As she did, Eliza looked around at the bow of the ship moored to the quay. She had two ways out of here now. Try to slip past however many cops and FBI agents were blocking her way out, or try to find a boat. Swimming in this cold water would be a death sentence. There would be one or two piers jutting off the quay for utility boats. If she could grab one...

She looked back in the direction she'd come. She could see a pier close to the bow of the Oceanic Azure, but there was no boat moored to it, and even if there was, she'd have no cover at all if Raleigh was still around. He'd pick her off easily. Maybe further down the quay...

She began walking towards the end of the quay. Maybe she could find a boat there, and if not, maybe she could grab a vehicle and drive out. The siren was really close...

She began crossing the marked access road behind the maintenance building. As she sis, she saw the blue light of an unmarked vehicle turning right, headed straight for her. If she kept moving towards the ship and the water's edge, she'd be in plain view, but just ahead there was a narrow pedestrian sized pasage between two towering rows of containers. It would give her some cover. She darted into it.

XXV

The walkway they were running down angled to the right following the water's edge. Ahead Max could see a building with a trailer in front of it. A man was standing in front of the trailer, maybe a hundred yards away. He brought something up to his shoulder. She realized what it was and started to yell for Dennis to take cover, but before she could, she saw muzzle flashes and heard the pop of bullets breaking the sound barrier. Just ahead a stack of containers jutted out from the rest where the walkway turned to follow the shoreline. She dashed for it, and took cover behind a container. She looked around for Dennis. No Dennis. She looked back, and saw him lying on the ground, motionless.

"Dennis!" No answer. "Dennis, can you hear me?"

"I'm OK," he said, through obvious pain. "I'm hit in the side. Fucker went through my vest. Don't try to get to me, he'll nail you."

She reached for her phone and called the Command Center. "This Max Hardy. We need HRT and paramedics at the Bayonne Marine Terminal. Active shooter, officer down."

A voice on the other end acknowledged her message, and she stuffed the phone back in her pocket. "Don't move," she said to Dennis, "he might try to finish you off.. "Can you see him?"

"I think he ducked behind that trailer."

She peeked around the corner. There was an open area between her position and the trailer, too much open area to cross. But there were a few containers, and heavy vehicles parked along the waterfront. She could maybe work in closer if she used them for cover. "I'm going to kill that son of a bitch," she said to Dennis, and dashed for the cover of a forklift parked about ten yards away.

XXVI

Raleigh looked around the corner of the trailer. One FBI agent down, that should get the othr one to hold back until help arrived. He cold get to the car, and maybe make it our of here before the roadblocks went up. Just in case, he'd cover the remaining agent, and if they tried to move on him, be ready and...

An agent in an FBI raid jacket dashed out from behind a container towards a forklift. Raleigh let fly with half a magazine. He ducked back behind the trailer, removed the mostly empty mag from the AK, put it in his pocket, took a fresh one from the pouch on his shoulder rig, and slammed it into the mag well. He shot another glance around the corner, in time to see a woman with long dark hair dash from behind the forklift towards a container parked lengthwise by the water's edge. _Crazy bitch. She's coming for me._

XXVII

The "road" Mike was trying to drive down was nothing more than a set of yellow lines painted on the pavement between stacks of containers, and he soon discovered that it was meant foe use of heavy equipment that couldn't get out of the way in a hurry, blue light or no. A forklift managed to get across the yellow line into a small gap in the wall of containers, but behind that was a lumbering eighteen wheeler that had just received its load froma container crane and was trying to make its way to the exit. "If this guy ever moves," Ryan observed, we might actually get in behind whoever's shooting and cut them off."

"And back up Max," Mike agreed. He blew the horn, pointlessly, since with the best will in the world, that truck couldn't make the left turn ahead in less than a week.

After an agonizing wait, the truck finally turned left to begin a long, looping run bak to exit and whatever destination its cargo was bound for. Mike snapped the car t the right, but had to slam on brakes to avoid hitting a man in a hard hat and green safety vest who was trying to get to the exit and away from the firefight that erupted in his workplace.

Mike finally had a clear road to the maintenance building and could see it just ahead. He saw a woman running across the road towards his left, but couldn't make out who it was. Another worker was running out of the building and headed for the gate. He heard more shots coming from behind the building, and slammed the pedal to the floor. Seconds later, he was doing the same with brake, and the car came skidding to a halt in front of the building. Mike and Ryan bailed out of the car and drew their guns. "Let's go around that way, Ryan said, pointing at the left side of the building."

"OK"

XXVIII

There was a rolloff hopper for waste disposal ahead, parked near the water. Moving near the waterline meant Max could have some cover from machines and equipment parked there. Before, whoever it was had a clear shot, and had been able to hit Dennis. She had been able to move behind the container, and keep herself out of the line of fire, but now, if she continued her advance, she would have to come out from behind it and run for the next cover. That hopper. It's thick steel sides would stop any slug this guy could throw. . If she could get to it, she'd be close enough to take a shot at the gunman, maybe. Right now she was too far away, and she could not waste her ammunition.

There was no fire coming from the trailer. Had he run away? Was he waiting for her? Move in or wait? If he was waiting for her, she might be cut down when she tried to make it to the hopper. If he had run away, and she remained here waiting, then this gunman and Eliza both might make their escape, possibly killing Mike and Ryan on the way out.

She made her decision then.

XXIX

He needed to move. He needed to be making his getaway. He needed to get to the car, and make it to the gate. But if he tried to make it with berserker bitch on his heels, she might shoot him before he could drive off. On the other hand, if he stayed here, he might be cut off by the backup that was surely on the way.

He made his decision then.

XXX

Max ran for the hopper, expecting at any moment to take a bullet. No fire came from the shooter. She ran without slowing to the end of the hopper, and peeked out from behind it. She could see the shooter, making for a sedan with an open trunk, and nearby, a figure lying on the ground motionless. She brought up her Shield, centered the glowing green dot of her front sight on the fleeing shooter, and squeezed off two shots. He staggered but did not drop, and turned to unload on her. She ducked back behind the hopper as bullets ricocheted off the thick steel. _I had a good shot. I hit him, he staggered like I hit him. What happened?_

 _Vest. Shit. I'm in trouble._ She reached for her phone. She hated using it, because the ringtone could give away Mike's position, but he needed to know, before he found out the hard way.

XXXI

Raleigh moved to put the car between him and the woman trying to kill him. Christ, she was still on him. He was running out of time. He had to kill her. So wait for her to show herself again, and then don't miss. He covered the area in front of the hopper where he expected her to appear.

XXXII

Mike felt his phone virate in his pocket. _This better not be a telemarketer._ "Wait," he said to Ryan. He looked at the screen. Max. "Hey, he said into the phone. "Where are you.?"

"Behind the maintenance building. Listen, that guy has a vest. And an AK." He listened for a moment.

"We're coming around the other side. Stay put." He turned to Ryan. "He's behind the building. She thinks he has a vest. We can maybe take him by surprise."

Ryan nodded his assent. "So here's what we do..."

XXXIII

Raleigh waited for the woman sheltering behind the hopper to make a move. She had been closing on him, but now she wasn't. Maybe she was afraid to expose herself again.

Time to get away from here. He was on the passenger side of the car. Getting across the seat would be damned awkward, but it seemed safer than walking around on the other side of the car fully exposed if the woman popped up and started blasting. He opened the door slowly, carefully, making as little noise as possible,, and then heard a noise behind him. He whirled, bringing the AK up as he did so. Behind him were two men armed with handgun...

XXXIV

Mike aimed high, Ryan aimed low. Mike fired twice, aiming for the shooter's head, but the man was turning and he was aiming at a small moving target from too far away. Ryan aimed low, trying to hit the man somewhere between the belt and the knee. He fired four shots, and the shooter screamed in agony, dropping to the ground hard, and grabbing his hip. They ran forward, Ryan covering the fallen shooter, and Mike grabbing the AK he had dropped. He tossed it well away to keep it beyond the man's reach, and began frisking him for other weapons. He found the Walther on the Raleigh's left side shoulder holster and threw it away also. He looked at the man on the ground. His left thigh, hip, and crotch were covered with blood from where Ryan's bullets had hit below his vest. From the amount of blood gushing out, one of Ryan's bullets had probably cut the femoral artery. If so, the man had only moments to live.

"Max!" Ryan called. "We got him! Come on out!" Mike scanned the area anxiously, and saw, to his relief, Max emerging from behind a rolloff hopper. She ran moved towards them at a jog.

"Where's Dennis?" Mike asked.

"Back there," she said, pointing. "He's hit. It went through his vest. He needs an ambulance. Did you see Eliza?"

XXXIV

The man who had been Raleigh's partner came awake slowly, aware that blood was trickling from a wound to his head. He looked around slowly, no sign of Raleigh. But there were three people, two men and a woman standing nearby. The woman and one of the men wore FBI raid jackets. He reached for the backup XD compact in his ankle holster, and took aim at the man in the raid jacket, whose back was to him.

XXXV

Mike pointed towards the corner of the building. "We saw a woman running towards the end of the quay. She ducked behind a bunch of con..."

Max brought up her Shield with lightning speed and fired four shots. Mike whirled around looking for whatever she was shooting at. He could see only a man crumpled on the ground with a pistol in his hand. Blood was running from a head wound onto the pavement. Max dropped the magazine out of her Shield and inserted a fresh one. "Show me." The three of them ran around the corner Mike and Ryan had come from, and Mike pointed to the opening in the wall of containers he had seen the woman run into. "Take care of Dennis," Max said, and took off at a dead run, not between the walls of stacked containers, but down the quay past the moored ship.

"Where the hell are you going?" Mike shouted

"After her," she shouted back

Mike and Ryan looked at each for a moment in disbelief, each of them wanting to say _she should have waited for backup._ "Go help Dennis," Mike said. "I'll back her up."

"No way in hell, we go together."

"You don't have a badge, you don't have a raid jacket, and SWAT is on the way. They'll think you're a shooter and light you up. Go!" Mike turned, and took off after Max.

XXXVI

Eliza emerged from the other end of the narrow passage and made a quick check of her surroundings. She'd been to this marine terminal before, and knew the general layout. To her left, she could se, in the distance, the lights of broad, low building. The truck loading terminal. If she was going to grab a vehicle, that was her best bet. There were trucks ranging from pickups to eighteen wheelers, plus employee cars in the parking lot. There were two problems. First, she was on a peninsula. With water on three sides, she would be forced to drive out on roads that would surely be blocked by the time she could make it to the loading terminal.

The other way out was to look for a boat. There was another pier at the other end of the quay. If there was a boat, she could get out that way. There would be patrols, of course. Everything from the Port Authority police to the Coast Guard, and the boat would be missed quickly. But she wouldn't have to get far. There were three other marine terminals only minutes away, and she might even make it to Staten Island. The pier was risky, but it was a high payoff if she could get out without running the gauntlet of police checkpoints and roadblocks. She stopped, and listened, checking carefully for approaching police. She crossed an access road to another towering stack of containers, again making her way down a narrow corridor. With any luck, there might be a boat tied at the pier just beyond.

XXXVII

Max ran past the moored ship. By now the dock workers had evacuated the area. There were likely crew aboard the ship, but they were preparing to sail, and wouldn't be walking around on the dock. Eliza had two ways out here, by road, or by water. If she followed Eliza through he maze of Conex containers, she'd walk straight into a trap. If Eliza tried to get out in a vehicle, the responding police should be able to cut off her escape. But could she escape by water? She might try to grab a boat, and she might even try to swim, desperate as that was. So she had to get to the end of the quay, and try to cut her off. Eliza had a head start, but she'd had to take a longer evasive rout, through the container maze. Max had a straight open run past the Oceanic Azure.

She ran alongside the moored ship, passing beneath the towering overhead cargo cranes. She passed the stern of the freighter. Ahead was another series of three cranes but no ship was beneath them. Just beyond the last crane she could see the end of a pier, and beyond it, the top of moored boat. She bore left towards a stack of containers. If Eliza was coming for the boat, she'd come from behind the wall of containers that paralleled the water's edge. So Max could lie in wait at the corner, and ambush her if she appeared.

XXX VIII

Mike saw Max move close to the row of containers, and cover the approach to the pier with her pistol. He understood now. She was still ahead of him, Max was as fast as a thief. He moved closer to the containers and slowed down. He didn't want the sound of his footsteps to give away his position. He crept towards where Max was standing, his Glock at the ready.

XXXIX

Eliza peered around the corner of the container stack she sheltered behind, and looked at the pier ahead and the utility boat moored there. She'd have to cross an access road, then pass another row of containers, then make it across the open quay to the pier. About fifty yards all told. She could hear sirens coming. Lots of them. She had to be away from here, now. Cross the open space at a run, and get to that boat while she still could. Fifty yards, that was all. She risked a quick peek around the corner. She saw nothing. She took off. She was maybe thirty yards from the pier, when she heard the voice.

"Drop it! Drop it now!"

She stopped. Max was behind her. She had no cover, and Max had her in her sights.

"Or you can be shot resisting."

Did she want to be shot resisting? Was death better than prison? No. Eliza let the gun drop to the pavement.

XXXX

Mike watched Eliza's gun drop to the ground and her hands go up.

"Turn around," Max said. "Face me when I do this."

Mike stepped forward, his gun trained on Eliza. "Max, don't do it. Please. You're better than this. You're better than us."

"I told you that you have no right to judge," she replied. "I said turn around," she s snarled.

Eliza turned around slowly. "There's about to be a few hundred witnesses," she said. "You better get it over with."

"I guess I better had. You have the right to remain silent. If you give up the right to remain silent, anything you say will be taken down, and can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney, and to have the attorney present during questioning. If you so desire, and cannot afford one, an attorney will be appointed to represent you at no cost to yourself. But I'm pretty sure you can afford one. Now do you understand these rights as I have explained them to you?"

"Yes. I understand."

"Cuff her," she said to Mike.

XXXXI

They handed Eliza over to a squad of HRT in the parking lot of the office building where they had left the cars. It was now full of emergency vehicles, police, Bureau, and paramedics. Beyond the line of yellow tape that had been drawn around the area were employees who had been forced to evacuate, and the first of the TV news vultures to reach the scene. Max saw Ryan standing by an ambulance. Two paramedics were tending to a man lying on a Gurney. "You got her?" She asked a hulking HRT operator who was leading Eliza to prisoner transport van, his bear paw sized hand on her upper left arm.

"We got her."

Max ran to the ambulance. "How is he?" she asked.

"It went through the kevlar on the left side and got in behind the side plate. Through and through wound, but that angle, it's very shallow. He'll make it."

"Yeah," Dennis said groggily. "I'm gonna make it just fine."

"I'll call Chelsea," she said.

"Thank you."

They loaded Dennis into the ambulance and drove off. Max stood for a moment, watching the receding red light, trying to think what to do next or where to go. Seeing Mike standing next to her, she decided that into his arms was as good a place as any. "You had me worried there for a second," he said.

"I didn't know what I'd do until the time came. I guess I had another moment of clarity. A real one."

She turned to Ryan, and hugged him. "You better call Gwen," she said. And tell her you're coming home."

"I will. And I knew all along that you weren't like me."

"You still haven't figured it out have you?" she asked. "I am like you. But you're a better person than you realize."

XXXXII

The bearded man who had been Derek's contact stood by the cargo terminal at Newark Airport, staring at the business jet on the tarmac, lost in thought. A jumbo jet was coming in low over the interstate, it's lights casting beams in a low hanging cloud overhead. He looked at his watch. The man should be here by now. At social occasions he liked to be a bit late so that he could make his entrance, but being late for his escape would be a bit much.

"I'm here," came Alford's voice from behind him.

He turned to see Alford holding two bags. "Glad to see you could make it."

"You're sure this s necessary?"

"We've been able to confirm it. Raleigh's dead, along with the other man you sent. And they have Eliza. Alive.'

"She won't talk. She knows what we'll do of she does. And she won't rat on another student."

"We can't take that for granted, not now," the bearded man said. There's too much at stake. We have to assume the worst. Which means you have to leave the country tonight."

"Where am I going?"

"Belarus. There'll be papers waiting for you when you get there."

"All right then," Alford sighed. "I suppose we must."

"We must. Good luck to you."

"Thank you." Alford picked up his bags, and boarded the plane. A man in gray coveralls with a military style buzz cut carried his bags u the steps for him, and got in with him. The plane started its engines, and began to taxi towards the runway.

The man watched as the plane taxied out of sight. He walked to the parking lot and got into his car, a black Subaru Outback, and sat behind the wheel waiting. Fifteen minutes passed, and then his phone gave a short buzz indicating he had a text. He checked, and found a message from an anonymous number. "Please call to confirm your appointment tomorrow." So Alford was wheels up. The man put his phone away, reached into his pocket, and took out a burner. He entered a number, and pressed send.

He could see, through the windshield, a flash of light in the sky like a distant fireball. The light vanished, and was replaced by smaller lights, like glowing sparks descending after the explosion of a skyrocket. A moment later, he heard the blast.

He started his car, and drove away into the night.

Musical Interlude - Dawn's Highway by The 69 Eyes

* Botnets are networks of connected computers controlled by a botherder, a person who controls other people's computers by planting malware in them. Botnets can be used to distribute spam, carry out denial of service attacks, and can even be used as weapons of cyberwar. Botherders get paid for the use of the bots they control. Some botnets, like Storm Basically, this is highly organized cybercrime, and the FBI spends a lot of time and effort combating it. If you surf the net without good antivirus protection, it's possible that your computer is part of a botnet, and you aren't even aware of it.

 _Armor Piercing Bullets_

I could write a piece on this long enough to be a chapter of Terudom, but won't bore you. The odds are that most of what you've heard on this subject about so called "cop killer" bullets is false, at least if you have relied on the media and Hollywood for your information. Steel core ammo isn't legal in every state, and where you find it, it's usually either imported from Russia or made in America under license from a Russian company. The stuff can be hard on guns and on the backstop at the range, and a lot of ranges, including the one where I shoot, don't allow it for that reason.

Federal law bans "cop killer" bullets, but the definition of what's legal and what's not depends on the composition of the bullet and what sort of gun it will fit into, not whether it will actually penetrate a vest. The reasons why would take too long to explain here. The ammo Raleigh was using was legal under Federal law and in most states, though if he had showed up with it where I shoot he would have been permabanned.

20


	24. Chapter 23 - A Bond We'll Always Share

Disclaimer: It's fanfic, meaning I don't own anything or make any money off of it. It's a labor of love. Please don't sue me.

This chapter is rated T. Apart from some language, I don't think there's anything here that wouldn't pass muster on an episode of The Following. If you're old enough to watch The Following, you're old enough to read this, but it is The Following so standard disclaimers apply. Expect some violence, dark themes, and general unpleasantness.

Chapter 23 - A Bond We'll Always Share

"So you're gonna sit there with your bare face hanging out, and tell me that Theo Noble actually helped us to crack a case."

Max and Mike were sitting in Shelby's office, the door closed, watching Shelby go over their preliminary reports.

"In his own psychotic way," Max replied. " He used his hacking skills from day one to try to blackmail Eliza with that recording, and then later, after he and Ryan went for that swim, he used them to more or less hack the whole Organization. His motives changed over time. At first it was a desire to make a deal for a new identity, and then later money, and finally revenge."

"Did Eliza know how far he hacked the Organization?" Shelby asked. "Did she ever know he hacked that Zodiac program?"

"We haven't spoken to her since the arrest," Mike said. "We were told to keep away."

Shelby set the reports down on the desk in front of him. "Yeah, that's Nick Donovan. They've got him running the Criminal Division now, God help us. He sent a team from Washington to take over the debriefing, but so far she hasn't said much of anything. She's holding out for immunity, but that's not going to happen. Eventually, she'll figure out that if she doesn't talk, it's a few years in supermax while the lawyers appeal the death sentence, and than it's the needle. I was wondering what the two of you think. Did she know Theo got so far that he could create bracelets?"

"I don't think she did," Mike said. "If Theo had bracelets he could have walked into the House like he did before. So if she knew, she would have had to do something. The truth is that those two really underestimated each other. I don't think Eliza knew how good Theo really was as a hacker, and Theo didn't know how dangerous Eliza was with her ability to plan things a dozen moves ahead. He tried to make a deal with her, but that was never going to end well. You couldn't make deals with her and expect to survive."

"We found a portable hard drive in the bag she took to the marine terminal," Shelby said. "And that coded book. NSA was able to decrypt the hard drive. We know now just how dirty Alford really was, and we're running down the leads on the Organization's moles. But we don't know who planted the bomb, and NSA still can't decode that book. How did Theo know that the Barnes woman had the book?"

"We don't know," Mike replied. "Maybe Strauss told him. He might have wanted Theo to recover the book after he made his escape. Once he was away, he didn't want a copy of that book lying around."

Shelby turned to Max. "What do you think?"

"I think it was something else."

"Like what?"

"I don't know. I think we're missing something, but I don't know what. I mean, I don't have a better explanation, but it just feels wrong. Maybe I should talk to Eliza. Maybe she'd tell me."

"I don't think so," Shelby said. "Frankly, I don't want you within a mile of her."

"Neither do I," Mike added.

"She could give us names we don't have," Max protested. "Maybe the name of whoever planted that bomb."

"She'll name names when she's ready to make a deal," Shelby said. "Let Donovan's team handle it."

"What's going to happen with the task force?" Mike asked.

Shelby set the reports aside. "Well, JJ's being sent back to Counterintelligence. They'll bring in someone else to run it, and I'm not sure yet who that will be. In the end, JJ may be asked to resign. What happened with Max was absolutely indefensible, and although JJ didn't know what Galen was really up to, he damn well knew it was wrong."

He lapsed into silence for a moment, as if lost in thought. "They used our own weapons against us. We collected so much data on people that when it was compromised, with this Opticon Scintil worm, they were able to use our own databases to shop for prospective moles. We gave ourselves emergency powers to fight terrorism that could be used against innocent American citizens. This has been a long time coming. It really all started with Communism. We declared it to be so insidious that we had to have special emergency powers to deal with it. Now, any time a new threat appears, it's always so insidious that we have to have special emergency powers over and above what the law allows. Terrorism, for example. The abnormal always becomes the new normal. The emergency never ends. Max, I'm sorry. I never thought you were a mole. I should have done more."

"It's OK," she said. "They would have gotten you fired. Or maybe even killed you. It wasn't your fault." she reached into her pocket, and pulled out a folded up piece of paper, which she placed on Shelby's desk. "As long as we're on the subject of fault..."

Shelby picked up the folded sheet and read it. "You're resigning?"

"Yes. It's time to go. I lost perspective. I lied about the Yellowsnake file. I suspected Ryan was alive. I didn't know until I had her in my sights that I wasn't going to kill Eliza. I set out to. Jim's dead."

Shelby placed the letter of resignation on top of the reports. "Be careful who you say that to. The stuff about Yellowsnake, I mean. I don't want to see you up on charges. I've been worried about you for a while. That maybe you were having a hard time."

She didn't answer. After a moment, Shelby continued. '"You knew there was going to be an infant at risk if they came for you. You turned to someone you could trust, because you knew someone in here was dirty. Let me ask you about Jim. Was he the sort of man who would risk his life to save a baby?"

"He did. Once."

"And you told him that there were some serious people threatening your family."

"Yes."

Shelby reached over to the side of his desk and found a business card on top of a sheaf of papers. He placed it in front of Max.

"I want you take that. Dr Parrish is a psychologist. She's had a lot of experience dealing with PTSD. I'm told she's worked a lot with returning vets. She also does some consulting for the Bureau. It's confidential. How you spend the rest of your life is up to you, but I want you to spend it healthy. I hear there's a wedding in your future."

"There is." She picked up the card, and studied it carefully. "I'll call her," she said, and put the card in he pocket.

"Good. I'll sit on this letter for a while. You think it over. I haven't lost confidence in you. I don't want you losing confidence in yourself. I still want you out there.. And remember there's a lot of people who care about you. So don't be afraid to reach out if you need help. Don't cut yourself off from your support system. I think that was Ryan's mistake. Don't let it be yours."

"What's going to happen to Ryan?" Mike asked.

"That's above my pay grade," Shelby replied.

"Has anyone said anything?" Mike asked.

"Officially no. Unofficially, there's a meeting in Washington today. Some very important people are going to be there. They'll decide when to announce that he's been resurrected, like Joe Carroll, and what they're going to do with him. It'll be their decision, not mine."

"And if it was your decision?" Mike persisted.

"We were at Quantico together. We worked together many times. I love him like a brother. But this time, I'd hang the son of a bitch."

II

They came to the hospital bearing gifts. Max brought some magazines for Dennis to read. Mike had a steak and cheese sandwich and fries, since Dennis didn't care for hospital food.

Dennis was sitting up, watching a cable news show, and no longer connected to IV bags and machines. Chelsea was sitting in a reclining chair, reading something on her Kindle. Seeing Max, she put the Kindle down, stood, and embraced her. "Hey. How are you holding up?" Max asked.

"Actually, he's holding up better than I am".

"I know that feeling."

"The good news is they say I can go home," Dennis said.

Mike placed the white paper bag containing the sandwich on the table attached to Dennis' bed. "I wasn't expecting you to go home so soon."

Dennis picked up the bag, and examined its contents. "Listen, your generosity is appreciated. They're taking half of forever to process my paperwork. This place is like the Hotel California. You can check out any time you like but you can never leave."

"Nothing happens fast in a hospital, I speak from experience."

Dennis unwrapped his sandwich and stuck a straw into the lid of his drink. "Through and through, but shallow. And it lodged in the back plate of my vest. So it was soft tissue damage. I'll have a scar. But at least I'll live to tell the story of how I got it." "When are they going to make a full announcement?"

"Full announcement?" Chelsea asked.

"I think that's our cue to step down the hall," Max said. "Come on."

"So what's happening?" Dennis asked, around a mouthful of sandwich.

"We haven't made an announcement yet about why that plane was blown up. I have a feeling that may come later today or tomorrow. Right now we're rounding up anyone we have a lead on. They've raided the ZR offices in Manhattan, and that base camp in Virginia. Also the Global Sutler terminal, because it was a front company and that's where Alford's plane took off from. And that House. They had tried to remove evidence, but a lot of it was too big and bulky. A lot of torture equipment. Acid vats for destroying bodies. We got a lot of records, but not all of them, and the arrests are continuing. But some of these people had time to run for it, and we'll be chasing them down for a while. Right now the people upstairs are deciding how they're going to spin it. They have to tell people that their government got infiltrated in a really bad way, but still reassure them that everything is under control."

"Is everything under control?"

"Not until we track down the last of these people, and I'm afraid that's taking too long."

"I wish I could be there."

"Me too. You go home. Rest up. I can tell you from experience that it takes time to come back from this kind of thing. A word to the wise. Never exceed what the doctors say you can do. I did, and it hurt, and I thought Max would never let me hear the end of it. Have you got a ride home/"

"Chelsea's taking me."

"Good. You take it easy."

"Will do. Thanks for coming by."

He found Max and Chelsea in a waiting room down the hall. "We're done with the secret stuff," Mike said.

Max gave him her "you goofball" look. "Trust me, it wasn't national security. More likely it was sports. Remember, I've been where you are. If there's anything, I can do, let me know. We'll get together. When you get Dennis home, text me. We'll plan some girl time, and maybe some retail therapy."

III

"Do you believe in long engagements?" Mike asked, as they stepped outside to walk back to their car.

"I do not. This has taken entirely too long already."

"I agree. I want Dennis there when we get married. As best man. I mean, if he's up to it by the time we can make the arrangements."

"I'm sure he will be. I want Ryan there. Maybe we better start making those arrangements now."

"We will," he nodded. "Where do you want to go on our honeymoon?"

"I'm sick of cold weather. I want to go someplace warm. Someplace where we don't have to wear a lot of clothes." She thought for a moment. "I've always wanted to see Hawaii."

"Why not the Caymans? You had a bank account there."

"Yeah, right. I want to try surfing. And I want to ride a jet ski."

"We'll start making plans when we get off work. And we can go get a marriage license tomorrow."

Max's phone signaled that she had a text. She checked it, and, and frowned. "Shelby. He says Nick Donovan is there. And he wants to see me."

IV

"Agent Hardy. Have a seat, please. It's good to see you again."

"Likewise," Max lied. She sat down opposite Nick Donovan. Shelby, looking worried, was sitting behind his desk.

"First of all, I'm very sorry for how you were treated. The Bureau owes you an apology, and a debt of gratitude. And to Agent Weston as well."

"And to Ryan," Max added.

"Ryan? Well, perhaps. In a sense."

"Sir, with all due respect, there's no perhaps or in a sense about it. Are you here about Ryan?"

"Among other things. Ryan is on his way here, and Mr Shelby will be discussing some decisions we've made about his future."

"What have you decided?"

"I'm afraid we'll have to discuss that with Ryan first. Right now we need to talk about you."

"About me?"

"Yes," Donovan said. "I'm here to ask you to volunteer for an assignment. One you may find personally distasteful. As you know, Eliza Getman has been uncooperative so far, and we would very much like her cooperation so that we can hunt down as many Organization members as we can as quickly as we can. We'd also like her help with that coded book. It could save a lot of lives. We've come to an agreement with her. Immunity is out of the question. But she'll have the possibility of parole, and she won't go to supermax. And there's one other condition that she wants. She, uh..."

"She wants to see me," Max said

"Yes. She wants you to take over the debriefing. You and you alone."

"I have explained to Mr Donovan," Shelby said, "that I strongly object to this arrangement, and that I'm sure Agent Weston will also."

"I'll do it."

"Thank you, Agent Hardy. I appreciate this. Afterwards, I'm sure we can arrange for you to have your first choice of duty assignments."

V

"This has turned into the case from which there is no escape. You should have told Donovan to shove it."

"That's what Shelby said. He also offered to tell Donovan to shove it for me."

Mike had been waiting practically outside Shelby's door, and begun expressing his disapproval as soon as they were a safe distance away. They were, at the moment, sitting in a break room, having coffee.

"You should have taken him up on it," Mike said.

"He said I could get my first choice of assignment after."

"Please. That's not why you did it. You can't let her go."

"When we move into a bigger place, it'll be because we need a nursery, not because I'm opening a Joe room. We need the information, and Donovan thinks that maybe I can get it. So I'll go see her. I'm not going to like it, but it's part of the job. There's still a bunch of Strauss students running around loose, and there's a lot of people at risk on account of that. Plus people who were in the Organization that we don't have a line on yet."

"Shelby's right. Just tell her to geek or else. If she doesn't want to talk, she can sit in supermax, in solitary twenty-three hours a day waiting for the lethal injection."

"I do this, and then we get married, and I never have to deal with her again. OK?"

He didn't answer, but instead took a sip of his coffee, and stared at the cup for a moment, as if hoping it might provide him with some new and more persuasive argument. "Did you call that doctor?"

"Yes. I have an appointment in two days."

"I don't think you're getting enough sleep," he said, as he rose to get back to work.

She smiled as she stood to leave. "I slept pretty good last night. You wore me out."

V

"I thought Nick Donovan was going to be here," Ryan said.

"Donovan's a busy man with a rapidly expanding bureaucratic empire to run. He had to get back to DC for a meeting with the Director. But he left something for me to give you."

Shelby pulled open a drawer, and took out two wallet sized objects, which he placed on his desk. Ryan stared at the FBI badge, and next to it, a folded up badge wallet. He picked the wallet up cautiously, as though it were a poisonous snake. He opened it to find credentials for Special Agent Ryan Hardy, complete with the ID photograph that had been taken when he had returned to the Bureau after the recapture of Joe Carroll.

"I never expected this." He looked up at Shelby. "Thank you. Or whoever was responsible. I...I want to be assigned to the Eliza Getman case. I've got some ideas about tracking down the remaining Organization members..."

Shelby held up his hand. "Stop. Right there. Your first assignment now that you've been officially reinstated, is to write your letter of resignation."

"I don't understand."

"You were working undercover."

"You're shitting me."

"I wish I were. Here's how it is. The decision has been made, at the very highest levels, that whereas the government of the United States was subverted in a way that could shake public confidence in its basic legitimacy, that steps must be taken to protect and preserve public trust."

"That's a really eloquent way of saying that you're going to lie your ass off."

"We are going to give the people the hero who uncovered and helped neutralize the threat. As opposed to executing, for multiple murders, the lawless vigilante who waged an illegal one man war."

"Whose idea was this?" Ryan asked.

"Well it sure as hell wasn't mine."

"How do they expect to sell this?"

"You've already sold it for us, by using at least two Bureau informants as your backup team. First there was whoever gave you a ride that night. Who was that?"

"Kelso. You remember him."

"That piece of shit. Yeah, I remember. I thought it might be have been Moretti. So you called Kelso to pick you up. Then you went to your old pal Ranson, who did fake ID. And then you were off and running. You tried to take the Organization down from the inside, but they got on to you, and they tortured Ranson for information, and killed him. They framed Max. They wanted to interrogate her about the extent of the Bureau's knowledge, and to protect their mole Galen. You and Weston pulled off that little commando raid of yours instead of calling in HRT to keep the Organization in the dark about how much the Bureau knew. Since the actual roundups are coming off Theo's and Coleman's laptops, and the hard drive we recovered, we don't even need to put you on the stand. Good thing too, since the last time you took the stand, it went to hell really fast. But this way... no perjury, no problem. You couldn't have set this up any better for us if we'd planned it."

"What if I refuse to go along with this?"

"Then you refuse. Just remember that you're either a hero or you're guilty of capital murder. And if we can't make a murder charge stick, then there's always the state charges, and they've got you nailed stone cold on those. The only way you stay out of Rikers is if you were a Bureau agent acting on Bureau orders."

"So who gets blamed for the Terudom killings?"

"The case remains unsolved. The investigation is ongoing. Anyone having information is asked to contact the FBI. But from the evidence, clearly someone violent, disturbed, and extremely dangerous. A serial killer, perhaps. I hear that bastard Theo had grievances against the Organization, and no one seems to know where he was when all this shit went down."

"What if they ask me where I was when these killings occurred?" Ryan asked.

"Before meeting the press, you will be given time to rehearse your cover story, which has been prepared for you."

"So if I was undercover, why can't I come back to stay?"

"To keep you from doing it again, Ryan. And you would do it again."

Ryan stood, and threw the badge and creds down on Shelby's desk. "They threatened my family, and the Bureau was rotten with moles! You said it yourself! The whole government was being infiltrated. Subverted! So I did what I had to do! And if I hadn't done it, they'd still be operating, and the Bureau would still be blind, deaf, and sitting on its ass! And you want to sit in judgement on me, and lie about what a great job the Bureau did, and tell people to sleep tight, because their FBI protects them? This is bullshit!"

"Yes, Ryan, this is bullshit. But it's necessary bullshit. This is the Federal Bureau of Investigation, not the Federal Bureau of Vigilante Murder. We enforce the law, but that's not enough. There also has to be the appearance of lawfulness. And if you won't do this for the Bureau, if you won't do it for yourself, then do it for your family. If you love them as much as you say, then don't make them watch you get dragged off to prison. Go home. Love your woman. Raise your son. Enjoy being a hero. And put your Batman suit away, because if I ever catch you out there playing vigilante again, I will not rest until you get the needle, and you join your old buddy Joe Carroll in whatever circle of hell he went to. So this is where it ends. The Bureau, the nation, and I personally thank you, for your courage, your dedication, and your years of service. Now go. And don't look back."

VI

"Congratulations," Mike said.

Max unwrapped her arms from around Ryan. "Let 'em lie all they want to. You have your life back.." She walked back to the printer and collected some pages it had just spat out.

"So what are you going to do now?" Mike asked.

"I don't know," Ryan said. "Teach, maybe. Write another book. Of course before I can start that I'll have to find out the official version of what really happened."

Max carried the printout back to her desk. "On the bright side, maybe you're writing fiction, but at least you know you're getting a happy ending."

"There is that. You know what I could do? Maybe start my own security company. Work as a consultant in the private sector. The more I think about it now, the more I realize there's a lot more to life than the Bureau. Maybe it's time I did something else. So when are you two getting married?"

"We talked about that earlier today," Mike said. "We're getting a marriage license tomorrow. Probably as soon as we can arrange some leave time."

"Well the last time I got invited to a wedding things really didn't go all that well, but I hope I'm getting invited anyway."

"You are," Max assured him. "For that matter, so is Gina."

Ryan looked around the room, taking it all in. "It's hard to believe I'm about to walk out of here for the last time. It's not how I saw it all ending. I'll miss it, but I guess it's time." He picked up his coat, which he had left draped over a chair, and turned to walk out, but stopped at the door.

"Something wrong?" Mike asked.

"No. But it suddenly occurred to me. I'm going home."

"Yeah," Max said. "You're going home. And Gwen's waiting."

He reached his car, and drove out of the deck into the late afternoon Manhattan traffic. He turned onto Centre Street towards the Brooklyn Bridge and home, never looking back.

VII

Gwen turned Ryan's FBI badge over in her fingers idly while Ryan sat on the couch, holding his infant son in his arms.

"Two weeks from today, and in the meantime I won't be in the field. I'll be going over the briefing materials for my so called undercover assignment, and that's actually going to happen at a safe house the Bureau keeps here in town. They don't want me hanging around the office. Officially I'm taking a little of my accumulated vaycay and leaving a little before my formal retirement."

" I don't think this private security company idea is a really good one. I don't want you doing anything like what you did before, and don't want you getting hired as some kind of consultant for the Bureau."

"It wouldn't have to be like that," Ryan explained. "I could run a training school for aspiring law enforcement officers. I might even get a license as a private investigator."

" Private investigator? I think you'd look really good in a trench coat and a fedora. And I'll put your stuff out on the street."

"Okay, scratch that one. So whut doo yoo tink?" he asked Ryan Junior. "Ooooh, I wike dat. Why didn't I tink uv dat?"

"Think of what?" she laughed.

"I've got a little money coming from my pension. We should take a trip."

"Where?"

"I was thinking maybe some place where we could have a honeymoon."

She sat frozen for a moment, as if unable to process what she'd just heard. Then she threw her arms around him in a hig that he couldn't really return with an armload of infant. "Yes! When?"

"Well, we gotta get Max and Mike married off first. They've been waiting a long time. After they get back from Hawaii, and yes, that is where they're going. We'll be getting the wedding invitations pretty soon, I think." He looked down at Ryan Junior. "For now,", he said, "I think maybe this would be a good time for my diaper changing lessons."

VIII

"You want this recorded?" the guard asked.

"I do not," Max replied. "It'll be just us girls."

"The Bureau normally sends two agents to an interview."

"Yes. They normally do."

The guard opened the door to the interview room, and Max walked in carrying a briefcase in her left hand. Eliza sat waiting, cuffed to the bar on the interview room table.

"Orange is a good look for you," Max observed. "You wear it well."

"Thank you. I like the way you've got your hair now. Straight, and a bit shorter. It works. But you look tired. Having trouble sleeping?"

"I sleep better knowing you're in here." She placed the briefcase on the table, opened it, and took

out a legal pad, pen and a several sheets of printout. She closed up the briefcase, placed it on the floor, and sat down.

"You know I really thought you were going to kill me," Eliza said. "I could see it in your eyes."

"That's not who I am."

"That the real reason?"

"What other reason would there be?"

"Are those the questions?" Eliza asked, nodding towards the pages of printout.

"Yes. And there's a lot of them, so if you don't mind, I'd like to get on with it."

"You know, I asked for you because I thought there were some questions that you wanted to ask me. I thought maybe that was why you spared my life."

"For starters," Max began, "I want a list of names. Everyone who was involved in running the Organization. All the top people."

"Did Nick Donovan write these questions?"

"Yes, he gave them to me."

"Of course he did. Because you wouldn't put your questions on paper. The questions that brought you to me. There's so much I can tell you."

"So you're gonna tell me what the Matrix really is? Or that Soylent Green is people?"

"About what you left out of your report."

"I didn't leave anything out of my report," Max said icily.

"Liar, liar, pants on fire. OK, then. Be that way. Ask me Nick Donovan's questions. And when you're done, maybe you'll finally ask me yours."

"Names of all the people. While we're still young."

"Andrea Markham, Saul McCrary...

IX

They'd been at it for a long time. Max looked at the sheets of notes she'd taken. She had a list of names of people on the Committee. She had names of wranglers, names of human traffickers, names of guests and members, and people who had been to the House. Names of moles. The Bureau would be a long time chewing on this, and the arrests...there was a member of Congress on this list. The extent of the corruption was breathtaking.

"OK, so now we get to your fellow students. We need the decryption key for that book."

"I don't have it."

Max put down the ballpoint she was holding and gazed at Eliza balefully before replying. "You do realize that your deal with the US Attorney requires your full cooperation, which includes that decryption key, and if we don't get it, the deal is off?"

"I do realize it, but the fact is I don't have it any more. Juliana Barnes brought me a sample from the book, already decoded. She said the code was mathematical. Two very large prime numbers. I assume you know what Shor's Algorithm* is. I don't understand the math, but you probably do. Anyway, she'd give me the numbers in exchange for my help. She did, on two index cards. But I didn't keep the cards. I had just enough computer smarts to plug in the numbers and get the book decoded. It was hard work. I had to manually type the whole book into my laptop, plus the two numbers I got from Juliana.

"So where are the keys?"

"I didn't keep them. I didn't need them any more."

"You kept the book."

"For sentimental reasons. Because he wrote it."

Max mentally counted to ten before answering. "So there's a decode somewhere. Tell me where it is."

"It was in my office. I didn't have time to get to it when I went on the run, and apparently the FBI didn't get to it before they did."

"You're lying to me, and if you don't start telling me the truth, I'm going to walk out of here and tell the US Attorney that you're a lying bitch, that you're wasting our time, and you're going to sit in supermax watching the flesh rot off your bones."

"I'm telling you the truth."

"In the first place," Max said, "you would have kept more than one copy of the decode. Maybe there was one in your office, but you would have had one you could grab and go if you had to make a run for it. We never found a decoded copy anywhere, so that can only mean there was another key, and that all this crap about Shor's algorithm is more lies. There was another key. You know what it was, and you were going to use it to decode the book again when you got wherever it was that you were going."

"Prove it."

"All right then, we'll do it the hard way. You had a decoded copy. Give me the names."

"You think I committed all of that to memory?"

"And yet you made Zack Coleman when he walked into your office."

"And his resume didn't hold up. We did background checks, you know."

"You recruited Duane Byerly as an assassin. Who else did you recruit?"

"There was no one else. I was just getting started."

Max glared at the cuffed woman sitting calmly in front of her, hoping that Eliza couldn't see her trembling with rage.

"You need to calm down," Eliza said, smiling. "You're making yourself sick. No wonder you're having trouble sleeping."

Max took a few deep breaths. "Have it your way. You'll have the rest of your life to suffer." She began putting the pad and pen back into her briefcase. When she had it closed up, the stood up.

"See you at the execution, Eliza."

"Aren't you forgetting something?"

"What?"

"Your questions. Nick Donovan sent you here to ask me the questions on that list. But you have some of your own."

Max slowly sat back down, placing the briefcase on the floor next to her chair. She leaned forward in her chair, placing her arms on the table in front of her, and taking a c ouple of steadying breaths before beginning. .

"How did Theo know that Juliana Barnes had that book?"

"You surprise me, Max," Eliza replied, smiling. "You've been a brilliant opponent. I would have thought that you'd figure that one out on your own. There's only one way Theo could have known about the book. Because Juliana told him."

She sat staring at Eliza, watching the smile on Eliza's face grow wider. The Cheshire Cat must have had that kind of smile. Max wondered if Eliza was going to vanish right in front of her, leaving only that smile behind.

"You should see the expression on your face," Eliza said. "You've figured something out. Please tell me what it is."

"Juliana Barnes," Max replied. "You paid Juliana the hundred grand. We thought she was working for Strauss. But all along she was working for you."

"Give the girl with the big blue eyes a gold star."

X

"Strauss trained Clayton," Eliza explained. "He was actually one of Strauss's first students. And later, Strauss trained me. And because I was exceptional, Strauss introduced me to Clayton, who had, by that time, created the Organization. Strauss knew about it, of course. He kept in touch with Clayton after he left, and followed his accomplishments with pride. Clayton was the most successful of his students. Strauss never joined the Organization formally, but he had been to the House, and knew where it was. So when Strauss was arrested, we had to consider the threat to the Organization this might represent."

"Juliana Barnes came later. She was attracted to Strauss. I won't say she was ever truly in love with him, but she was infatuated. And Strauss used that. He told her that there was a way the two of them might be together. He told her that he had powerful friends, and if Juliana would contact them, then they could help him get out. She wouldn't have to do anything that was likely to get her in trouble. Just carry a message to his friends, act as a courier, and they'd do the rest."

"I told Derek that Juliana walked into the House on Strauss's bracelet. That wasn't exactly true. If Strauss had a bracelet, the FBI would almost certainly have found it. But he and I had worked out a system of coded phrases if he ever needed to reach me. He gave her a code phrase, and she used it on the guards at the gate of the House. They brought her to me, and she delivered Strauss' message. He wanted my help."

"The idea of using Theo to hack the FBI email server was Strauss'. He knew what Theo was capable of. But he also wanted revenge on Ryan, and that included the people he loved. Mike was overseas, but you were here, and Strauss wanted me to put you under surveillance. I agreed to do it in exchange for his list. I assigned the job to Derek."

"You may have already guessed the broad outlines of the plan. Tom would be killed, Mike would framed. Mark Gray would take care of Mike before he could be arrested. Juliana acted as a go between, because I couldn't get directly involved. Clayton trusted Strauss to keep quiet about the House and the Organization. I didn't. In fact, I knew that if Strauss succeeded with his escape plan, it would have put the whole Organization in danger. Consider what would have happened next. The entire resources of the FBI, the CIA, and every other agency would have been committed to the hunt for Strauss. And Ryan would surely have joined in. If he were caught, the gloves would come off. Our government had already tortured and waterboarded people who were responsible for fewer deaths than Strauss. And if Ryan caught up with Strauss...he would have done whatever was necessary to make the man talk."

"You were going to kill Strauss," Max said, her voice almost a whisper.

"Yes. On one of Juliana's visits, I performed a dissection on a young man to show her what could happen if she didn't cooperate. I also paid her a hundred thousand dollars for her services to the Organization, and for the risks she was taking. She booked Strauss's escape rout, and she gave it to me. He would have been removed from that ship once it got a safe distance out to sea. The body never would have been found. The FBI would have been left with questions that had no answers."

"But she spent the money too soon," Max said, " and we got on to her."

"Yes, and that was when I was most scared. Everyone assumed that Strauss paid her the money. But he couldn't have. He had assets, but he had trained serial killers who had committed rather a lot of murders, and the tort lawyers were already circling. In the immediate aftermath of his escape, the FBI was too busy hunting Theo to make the connection about the money. But I knew that Ryan would eventually put two and two together. He wasn't at his best by any means. But Ryan was an obsessive, and sooner or later, he'd smell a rat."

"You asked how Theo knew about the book. The answer is that Strauss didn't trust me. He wanted Theo to provide passports, not me. He wanted an identity I didn't know about. But Theo was reluctant. He knew there's be a lot of heat on Strauss, and that potentially he might be at risk. Juliana tried to persuade him. And that's where it all went south. She was an amateur, and she put on her thinking cap. She told Theo that if he wouldn't help, then Strauss would have to turn to another student. One whose price would be higher. One who could access that list. It was an incredibly stupid thing to do."

"Later, when Theo was on the run, and needed a new identity, he recovered the book. I don't know how he decoded it, but he showed up at the House offering to deliver Ryan to me in exchange for a new identity. Since he'd breached House security, my first reaction was to have him killed. But then I realized that I had the Theo problem and the Ryan problem. I sent Theo after Ryan, and no matter which one survived, I thought half my problem would be solved."

"I wanted Ryan taken alive for interrogation. I needed to know if he suspected anything about the money. I also wanted to know how much he'd actually guessed about Theo being near my penthouse, since I hadn't reported all of my contacts with Theo to the Committee. For all I knew, he'd assigned someone, maybe even you, to start digging."

"Later, with Theo and Ryan in the river and no bubbles coming to the surface, I had some of our people on the inside push the theory that Strauss must have had hidden assets, maybe derived from his students somehow. It wasn't difficult. You ever see Hogan's Heroes? Sergeant Schultz? 'I see nothing. I know nothing.' Because if he saw, if he knew, he'd have to do something about it, and then everyone would know that Hogan had been making a fool of him the whole time. Well, in many cases, that's exactly how it works. The FBI saw nothing, and knew nothing, because it was easier to believe that Strauss had hidden assets than to believe that there was a much wider conspiracy operating under the FBI's nose." She shook her head sadly. " I thought when they both went off that bridge, that I'd been incredibly lucky. But it was too good to be true."

"You know," Eliza continued, "I honestly think you might have caught on to it, given time. But you were a bit... distracted. Ryan's loss. Mike's injuries. If it hadn't been for Mark Gray, you might have been pursuing me a lot sooner."

"Whose idea was Mark?" Max asked. "Yours or Strauss'?"

"Mine. You think Juliana had Mark Gray on speed dial? I found him. And I sent Juliana to contact him, since I couldn't do it directly. So I guess I'm indirectly responsible for Mike getting stabbed."

Max felt her gorge rise. _One missing piece of the puzzle. And I finally found it._ "This plan of yours. You said Tom and Mike both were going to be killed. But you didn't mention me. What was going to happen to me?"

"You would have been mine."

"Yours?"

"Mine. I'd been seeing the surveillance reports that Derek was sending in. You were...interesting. You know, Derek always thought I was fascinated with your uncle. He went to his grave believing that I made a deal with Theo out of some impulsive attraction for Ryan. But it wasn't him that I found fascinating. I considered putting you up for bid at the House. You would have fetched a good price. But then I'd have to admit how I came to have you, and that wouldn't do. I thought about maybe dissecting you. But I finally decided to keep you alive. You would have been an interesting toy, once Dr Milani and I had ... reduced your ego and cognition." She grinned at the horror in Max's eyes. "Why do you think I went easy on you in the interrogation? I didn't want to mark you up."

Max sat there, speechless.

"I believe," Eliza said, "that you have at least one more question."

"The motel. That night. When you killed Derek. You told Kaminsky that you'd speak to his contact. Who was that? It wasn't Alford. Who was Derek's contact?"

"I wondered when you'd finally get to that. You didn't include it in your report."

Max tried, but she couldn't keep her voice from trembling. "How did you know I didn't put it in my report?"

"Because both of us are still alive. And now you know the truth. You destroyed the Organization. You reunited your family. But you didn't really kill the giant squid. It's still down there. Below the surface. You just cut off a tentacle."

"So tell me where to find the rest of the squid."

"No. Because I have hope. You held on to hope all those long months that Ryan was missing. I hold onto hope now. Hope that maybe the people behind that squid, the people who really pull the strings, will see that I'm still useful, and come for me, even now. Or maybe hope that you'll reach out to me, when one day that squid resurfaces, and you need my help. Until then, you won't tell Ryan. He'd obsess again, and he's so much happier now. And you won't tell Mike, because he might tell Ryan. We've had an intimate relationship, Max, and it's not over. We've been watcher and watched. Hunter and hunted. Torturer and victim. And now we're keeping each other's secrets. It's a bond we'll always share. Who knows? Maybe this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship."

Max stood, and picked up her briefcase. "Maybe flying monkeys will come out of my ass." She turned on her heel, and walked out of the room.

XI

Max found Shelby in the Command Center, looking at footage of a raid that the Bureau had conducted on a mansion upstate. On the screen, HRT was frog marching a member of the Committee towards a waiting van.

"I need to see you for a minute privately," she said.

"Sure"

In the hall outside she held up a a few sheets of paper. "Nick Donovan sent these. Additional questions. I found them waiting when I got back. I've got a man to marry, a family to start, and a life to get on with. You gotta get me out of this."

"Good to see you've come to your senses. Does this mean I also need to find you a new duty assignment? Because I still have that letter."

"You can tear that up. I had...a moment of clarity. And it came talking to her. It was weird."

"So what is it that you see clearly now that you didn't see before?"

"That I have a job to do. Something that I'm good at. Maybe something no one else can do. And I can't give up. I didn't give up on Mike. I didn't give up on Ryan. And now I can't give up on myself. Because if I give up, then she won. I also learned that the less I see of her, the better."

"Sounds like an episode of the Twilight Zone. You got what you thought you wanted, which was to face her. Now you know you never really wanted it in the first place. And you learned something."

"Maybe I also learned that my boss can be insufferable when he was right all along."

"You know you have an eval coming up, right?" Shelby grinned "Ok then. There's a couple of openings on the Major Case Squad. And there's Operation Follow Up."

"What's Follow Up?"

"Well, the Terudom task force is being shut down and rebooted as Follow Up. It'll focus on following up all the leads we have on the Organization, and hunting down any remaining members, as well as remaining Strauss students. But Washington wants it under all new management. A new broom sweeps clean and all that. So they're taking my advice and bringing in Gina Mendez."

"Gina's running it? How did you get her to come back? How did you get Franklin to sign off on it?"

"I won't say it was easy, but I'm pretty good at getting what I want. Hey, I wanted you to stay didn't I?"

XII

Emily sat in front of her TV, staring morosely at a news show, watching a panel of experts discuss the recent arrest of a number wealthy serial killers and the FBIs takedown of a massive, hitherto unsuspected serial killer organization. The experts were divided on what was to blame, with one of them blaming internet pornography and another violent video games that the killers might have been exposed to in childhood. A political operative who frequently turned up on the Sunday talk shows was calling for a special prosecutor, and blaming the other party for being soft on crime.

The thought of Eliza sitting in her cell alone left her depressed. She'd liked Eliza, and had always enjoyed talking to her. She'd looked forward to visiting Turkey after Eliza made it out, and imagined the two of them seeing Istanbul together. It would have been wonderful. She imagined the two of them traveling the world and having adventurers. She had always wished, at some level, that Eliza had shared her passion for hunting down abortionists and sluts. The two of them would have been a great team.

Her phone buzzed, and she picked it up from the lamp table. She recognized the number, and her heart leaped. The clinic! Could it be...

"Emily Hanson...I got the job? Thank you so much. This is wonderful...I can be in tomorrow, we can start th paperwork then...Yes Ma'am. Thank you again. I am so looking forward to it...Right..I'll see you tomorrow."

She set the phone back down, and stood, thinking that this called for a glass of wine to celebrate.

She was about to walk to the kitchen when she looked at the TV screen, and stopped. The news channel had cut to a press conference. A man named Dan Shelby was speaking to a mob of reporters about the arrests, and the bombing, and the death of a high level intelligence official. In the background, she could see Ryan and Max Hardy, and Mike Weston. She sat back down to watch. Apparently Max Hardy had been closely involved in capturing Eliza. Emily stared at the dark haired woman on the screen. "I'll remember you," she said aloud. She rose to go to the kitchen. She had to start dinner. She'd make zucchini pesto tarts, since those were easy to do and she'd moped around all day and hadn't given a thought to her menu.

She wondered if there was a way she could help Eliza...

XIV

"It'll be nice working for Gina again," Mike said, as he opened a container of lemongrass chicken that he has brought home for his dinner.

Max examined her tilapia with black pepper sauce. "Yeah, it will. I still can't believe Shelby made it happen. I like him a lot. Working for him is an education." she tasted her tilapia, and took a sip of her tea.

"It'll seem strange without Ryan," Mike observed.

"I know. But he's earned some normal time. He told me, while you were in the hospital, that there would be no end to the violence. The craziness. That he could never have a normal life. Now he does. And so do we."

Mike raised his glass of tea in a toast. "To a normal life."

"Hear hear," she replied, lifting her glass as well.

" I was thinking," Mike said, "that maybe we could write a book. Ryan did. And he'll probably write another one. After that press conference today...I mean, we're famous. Maybe we could cash in on it a little."

She thought for a moment. "I don't think so."

"Why not?"

"Well, if we write a book, it's like saying that we're done. We live our lives, and then we write the story of our lives. I want to write a book, but maybe we should live few more chapters first."

"I don't know, he said. "You really think we'll have another chapter like the last few? Would you even want to?"

"You never know. When Ryan wrote his book, he thought the story was over. But really, it was just beginning."

Musical Interlude - Sweet Dreams Are Made Of This, Emily Browning cover

* Eliza, of course, lied to Max, and Max never expected anything else. Modern cryptography is usually based on very complicated math, as in so complicated that even with modern computers to hammer away at a coded message, it might take thousands of years to reach a solution. Since the ciphertext in the book appeared as a series of numbers, Eliza could lie about a mathematical solution to the code to protect the other students. (For that matter, maybe the solution was mathematical, and Theo assigned a numerical value to the key based on the letters in the quotation.) Shor's Algorithm gives a solution to the problem given an integer N, find its prime factors. This has applications in modern cryptography. Search engine if you are interested, and like math.

A quantum computer, if one could be built, would make it possible to break mathematical codes based on prime factors quickly and easily, and would make privacy pretty much a thing of the past, which is why all governments are frantically researching quantum computing.

22


	25. Epilogue - No Time Like The Present

Disclaimer: It's fanfic, meaning I don't own anything or make any money off of it. It's a labor of love. Please don't sue me.

This chapter is rated T.

Epilog - No Time Like The Present

Max sat in front of her laptop, reviewing the notes she'd hastily typed. She'd left work early when she'd heard the news. It had made her almost physically ill. The court had sent Eliza to Aliceville prison in Alabama. Medium security, not supermax. Apparently the judge ahd decided that Eliza had cooperated fully, and bought her story about the coded book. She sat looking at the

notes she'd typed up. She had promised Mike before they'd been married that there wasn't a Joe room in her future. Well, the apartment was way too small for that, even if she wanted to go there, and Mike wouldn't have it anyway. So if she couldn't have a Joe room, she'd have a Joe folder on her hard drive.

Of course it could all be a coincidence that she had gone to a medium security facility from which an escape or a rescue might be more easily arranged. Maybe the judge was just that stupid. Or maybe the squid was about to surface. There was no way of knowing. But it was time to start keeping track. She looked at her computer clock. Mike would be home soon. Best to close this out now. She clicked save, and thought for a moment about what to call the folder she'd created. The scientific name for the giant squid was Architeuthis. She typed the word, but as she was about to hit enter, she thought better of it. A code name should be easier to spell, for one thing. She hit backspace a few times, and saved the folder as Archie.

She closed the window, leaving open the other writing project she'd been working on, but hadn't told Mike about. This was something else she had said she wasn't going to do, at least not yet. But she'd decided it was time.

II

Mike opened the door to their apartment, and found Max sitting on the couch, in jeans a T shirt and bare feet, her open laptop sitting on the coffee table. "How are you?" he asked.

"I'm OK."

"You didn't sound like it earlier."

"I let it get to me."

When he sat down next to her, she greeted him wth a kiss, and curled into his arms. "You sure you're gonna be all right?"

"I haven't had a nightmare in four months, and I'm not going to start. I don't even want to talk about this. Let's talk about something cheerful. What are you planning for Dennis' bachelor party?"

"Well, Dennis isn't really a strippers and debauchery kind of guy. I thought maybe we could get a bunch of tickets and we'd all take in an MMA match. Or maybe charter a boat and go deep sea fishing. I think we'll probably do MMA. If we go fishing, some of the guys will get seasick, and they wouldn't enjoy that."

"MMA sounds good He'll like that. Did you get something to eat?"

"Yeah, we stopped at the gym to work out. After a hard day of going through all those financial records for that front company...anyway, after the gym we stopped off for burgers and beers."

"Sounds good. I warmed up some of that leftover chicken. Excuse me for just a second." She rose and disappeared into the bedroom.

He sat for a moment and considered turning on the TV. He reached for the remote, but as he did so, he noticed the latop. A word processor was open. Max never brought work home. He looked at the screen, and began to read what she had typed. He scrolled down the page to read more of it.

He was suddenly aware that she was back, sitting down next to him, and sliding back into his arms. He kissed her , and as he did so caught a familiar scent. That fragrance. She'd worn it before, that first night he'd finally been well enough to make love to her again.

"I thought you said you didn't want to write a book yet," he said.

"Well, I thought about it. We were going to start a family.. Children are expensive."

"That's what I've heard," he replied. "When do you want to start a family?"

"Well, like you said the night you proposed. There's no time like the present."

Musical Finale - Home To You By Dusty Hughes


End file.
